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As Amber’s body fell into the pit and we replaced the cover, I felt an intense wave of power rush through me. The sweetest feeling I’ve ever had. The only comparable feeling was the love I felt for Denise on those nights when she held me. I suppose I knew, right then, that I would continue to seek out that feeling. Love. And power.

We drove back to the hotel. I was splattered with blood so I parked outside, with the lights off, and sent Gavin in to get me a change of clothes and a wet flannel. That was enough for me to get to my room, where I had a shower and got dressed again. After that, we went downstairs and rejoined the reception, talking to as many people as we could so they would think we’d been there all along. No one mentioned Amber, and why should they? She was nobody.

The next morning, driving back to London, Gavin and I agreed never to see each other again. I would give him some money, a redundancy package, which he seemed pleased with. I wonder what the stupid fool is doing now?

Declan turned to Bob. ‘Gavin. Gary. That must have been him. Hardly the most imaginative name change.’

‘You think that’s what Gary was talking about when he said, “We had a deal?” The agreement not to see each other again after Amber’s murder?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe there was something else. More recent.’ Fifteen minutes had passed since Amy had left. ‘Let’s go and find out.’

Amy was about to start pressing buzzers when she heard footsteps from inside. She quickly ran down the steps to the basement flat and crouched, looking up. Gary came out, still carrying the holdall. He looked pale.

He entered the passageway that divided the houses and Amy counted to three, then ran back up the steps and followed.

There were garages at the back of the block, tatty-looking constructions with rusting doors. Amy waited at the end of the passageway and watched as Gary peered around, then opened one of the doors, lifting it just enough to duck under and go inside, shutting it behind him.

Amy took a deep breath, trying to think straight. She had no weapon. She should call Declan again and wait. But she had to know what was in that garage.

She pressed her ear against the garage door, but couldn’t hear a thing. What the hell was she supposed to do? She tried to call Declan again but it was still going straight to voicemail. Should she call the local cops? Gary could be murdering Becky right now, if she wasn’t already dead. She couldn’t wait any longer, not after the slow, suffocating agony of the last ten days, the horror of not knowing.

She reached out and turned the handle, bracing herself as she pulled the door towards her, wincing at the noise it made as she pulled it up and open, taking a step back as she expected Gary to come running out at her.

Nothing happened.

The garage stood open. There was no one there. Just a stack of boxes around the edge, a rusting bike hanging from two fat nails, some bags of rubbish in the corner.

Her breath shuddered out of her as she stepped out of the warm sunshine and into the garage.

She heard a noise, a shuffle, and, as she turned her head, Gary sprang out from behind the stack of boxes.

He grabbed her by the throat, pushing her against the wall, her back slamming against brick, winding her. As she bent double, he ran to the door and slammed it shut. A dim light flickered in the ceiling. Gary stood in front of her, more a shadow than a man.

‘Where is she?’ Amy panted.

He didn’t reply, just threw himself at her. Amy ran towards the door, tried to pull it open, but he was on her, tugging on her shoulders and throwing her to the floor. He tried to jump on her but she rolled, screaming, ‘Where’s my sister?’ at him as she sprang to her feet. She was fitter than him, and faster. But he was stronger.

Gary had his back to the garage door. She had to get past him. If Becky was alive, she must be in one of the flats … so what had he come out to the garage for? Then she saw it, lying on the floor beside the boxes he’d sprung out from: Becky’s suitcase. It was open, a dress spilling from inside. He must have come out to the garage to collect it, to make sure there was no trace of Becky left in here … Oh, God, was she too late? Was Becky already dead?

He saw her looking at the suitcase.

‘I loved her,’ he said, out of breath and sweating heavily. ‘But now I love you, Amy. I had to get rid of Becky so we could be together. Me and you. And Boris, of course.’

‘You’re fucking insane.’

He looked hurt. ‘Insane. That’s what Becky said.’

As they spoke they moved in a slow semi-circle around the garage, Gary blocking her from the exit with his body.

‘Is she dead?’

‘Dead?’ he echoed, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. ‘Don’t be sad, Amy. I
saved
her, from Lewis. He was going to kill her. He would have done terrible things to her, like he did with Amber. What he did to her before he finally finished her off … I’ll never forget it. But I made Becky’s last days nice. Loving. At least she was looking into the eyes of someone who once loved her when she—’

Amy screamed and rushed towards him, clawing his face with her nails. He yelled out and tried to grab her wrists, but she kicked him in the balls as hard as she could and he went down hard. She jumped up on top of him and punched him in the side of the head, pummelling him with her fists. But he shook her off, sending her onto her back, standing up and kicking her hard in the ribs.

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Amy.’

‘Fuck off, Gary.’

He came at her again, his bleeding face twisted with panic and almost unrecognizable in the gloom of the garage. He swung a punch at her, connecting with her shoulder and sending her spinning and crashing into the back wall of the garage, colliding with the hanging bike.

She fell to the ground, the bike falling on top of her. Gary came towards her, his face contorted with anger and fear, the same expression she’d seen when he’d chased her out of his building, but even darker, his true self showing through. Right now, standing there with his fists clenching and unclenching, he reminded her of Nathan, and how weak she’d felt back then.

But not now.

If Becky was dead, she didn’t care any more. This man had lied to her, cheated her, treated her with utter cruelty, just like Nathan. She had let him fuck her. She had let him fuck
with
her.

No one would ever do that again.

He came towards her, his arms outstretched, and she scooped up the long, thick nail that had fallen from the garage wall as the bike had dropped, and as Gary threw himself onto her, she raised her hand, the head of the nail flat against her palm, and thrust it into his eye.

He screamed so loudly that, within moments, someone banged on the garage door. Amy staggered over to it, pushing it up and open to reveal a bald, muscular man who said, ‘What the hell?’ when he saw Gary lying on the floor at the back of the garage, clutching his face, blood spurting from between his fingers.

‘Call the police,’ Amy shouted, as she ran out of the garage towards the flats.

But as she arrived at the front of the building, Declan and Bob screeched up outside and jumped out of a squad car.

‘What’s going on? Are you OK? I just heard your message, we were on our way to talk to Gary at his flat.’ Declan grabbed hold of Amy by the shoulders but Amy broke free.

Her words came out in a rush: ‘Gary’s round there he’s injured I stabbed him in the eye a guy is guarding him I think Becky is in here in one of these flats …’

‘OK, calm down. Deep breaths.’ Declan tried to restrain her again.

‘No!’ She ran up the steps to the front door. ‘We need to break the door down.’

‘Didn’t you just say Gary is round the back? Well, let’s go and get the keys off him.’

Declan unlocked the door to the flat and pushed it slowly open. The moment he stepped inside, Amy pushed past him and ran into one room, then out and into another. The flat stank of sweat and something sweet and synthetic like cheap scented candles or a plug-in air freshener. It was decorated like an old lady’s place, old-fashioned furniture, green wallpaper. It must have been Gary’s mum’s or grandmother’s.

She stopped dead.

‘Oh, God.’

Her sister, her beautiful sister, lay on her back on the bed. Both hands were cuffed to the bedstead. She was naked, her eyes closed, a pillow lying half across her face. She looked so skinny, as though she hadn’t eaten since she’d vanished, and her skin was grey. The smell of unwashed human flesh rose up from her and Amy realized Gary must have lit the candles to disguise the rank odour.

Tentatively, Amy crept up to the bed. Tears spilled from her eyes, falling onto Becky’s skin as she leaned over her, moving away the pillow, brushing her hair back from her face with shaking fingers, touching her blue lips. Declan stood behind her, watching silently. Bob was downstairs with Gary, who had still been sobbing and clutching his eye when they’d found him. An ambulance was on the way.

Amy spotted a pair of small keys lying on the bedside cabinet and unfastened the handcuffs, gently lowering Becky’s arms so they lay by her side. Amy sat on the bed and leaned over, hugging her sister’s cool body.

‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘You’re safe now.’

She kissed her cheek and stroked her face.

‘I found you.’

Amy stood and watched the removal men carry Becky’s furniture and belongings down the stairs and into their van. She looked up at the window of Gary’s flat and rubbed the goose bumps on her upper arms. For a moment, she thought she saw him looking out at her, standing there with his shirt off like the first time she had met him. But that was impossible. For one thing, he was in custody awaiting trial for attempted murder, kidnap, false imprisonment and rape, which he admitted; Sussex Police were also planning to charge him for the murder of Amber Corrigan, which he denied. For another, the Gary in the window had two good eyes while the real Gary wore an eyepatch now. Amy had been to his first appearance in court and seen him, the patch making him look sinister and, at the same time, pathetic.

‘I was happy here,’ Becky said, following Amy’s gaze.

Amy turned to her. ‘Were you really?’

Becky shrugged, then her eyes glinted. ‘A hell of a lot happier than I was at Gary’s mum’s place, anyway.’

Ever since she’d started talking again, this had been Becky’s way of dealing with it: flashes of night-black humour. She’d been in hospital for days, suffering the aftereffects of shock and semi-suffocation – for a while, the doctors had feared she had sustained brain damage from lack of oxygen from when Gary had put the pillow over her face. Had Amy not arrived when she did, the slender thread attaching Becky to life would certainly have snapped and she would have been lost for ever.

Amy had spent most of that time sitting by her bed, only going home to sleep and walk Boris. But now, Becky was out, and coming to stay at Amy’s for a while. Until she felt strong enough to find a new place to live.

Amy looked at her sister, so thin and pale, smudges beneath her haunted eyes. She had tried to persuade her not to come along today but she’d insisted.

‘What did you do with the iMac?’ Becky asked.

‘I was going to take it to the dump. But I couldn’t bear to, so I wiped it clean and donated it to the Oxfam shop round the corner.’

‘You should have smashed it up.’

Amy pulled her sister into an embrace, wincing at the feel of Becky’s ribs pressing into her. At that moment, Damian from next door came out and asked them if they’d like a cup of tea. He stared at Becky, whose forehead was still pressed against Amy’s shoulder, with that look people give victims of trauma, a blend of fascination and awkwardness. He was nice, but Amy shook her head and Damian nodded and went back into the building.

Amy was still waiting for her own post-traumatic symptoms to hit. Everyone told her it would come – that, like Becky, she should be seeing a counsellor. But the strange thing was, she felt strong. Far stronger than she’d felt in a long time, as if the events of the past weeks had built up her psychological muscles, given her new powers. Perhaps it was just that she was concentrating so hard on looking after Becky, but for now she was glad. She walked with new purpose, talked to doctors and lawyers with confidence. She knew now that if she bumped into Nathan on the street, she wouldn’t tremble or crumble. She wouldn’t spit on him or scream at him either. She would simply ignore him again.

‘That’s it, love,’ said one of the removal men, a tall Polish guy with glasses. ‘All done.’

‘All right. Our dad is waiting at my place. He’ll let you in.’

That was another good thing that had come from this. Their parents had flown over the second they’d heard what had happened. Amy hadn’t spent so much time with them since she’d lived at home, although she was now looking forward to their return to Spain. There were only so many times she could watch her mum clean all the glasses in her flat while conducting an awkward conversation with Boris.

The removal men drove off and left Amy and Becky standing on the pavement. It was a beautiful late summer day. School would start again soon, but Becky wouldn’t be going back. Not yet.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Amy said.

They linked arms and walked in silence along the road, the traffic rushing past them. Couples walked by, hand in hand. The man who walked the streets muttering to himself shuffled by. A kid outside Costcutter dropped his Cornetto on the pavement and started crying.

They crossed the road and walked down the alleyway alongside the train station, past the hairdresser’s and the Internet café. Amy glanced inside the café and her gaze fell upon a young woman with light brown skin who was tapping away at a computer. Through the window, Amy could see what site she was looking at: CupidsWeb. There was a picture of a good-looking man on the screen and the young woman smiled to herself as she pecked at the keyboard with her fingers.

Amy had an urge to rush inside, to yell at the woman, tell her to be careful, to get off that site, go out, go to the park, join an evening class, go to a bar, get chatting to that cute guy in the corner shop, arrange a date with a friend of a friend. Meet someone real, in the real world.