‘He’s dead. He’s dead.’ Annie sat up suddenly in the bed. Black, nervous dread filled every molecule of her body. The black fear was so overwhelming that, for a moment, she thought she was dead and hell lived inside her. As she woke to her new surroundings in Lara’s flat, the mismatched sheets, a lumpy pillow, the long window in front of the bed which looked out onto the Kings Road, her head immediately came alive with the terror of getting caught. Were the guards looking for her in Ireland? They would come after her. She would get flung in prison in England or taken back to Ireland. Back in Killa, everyone would know what she had done. The life here, which had barely started, would end. Lara would be horrified to realise she had taken a murderess into her home. Had she left some crucial evidence behind? Annie was convinced that she must have done. She wanted so badly to forget. Lara had offered her the chance to do that. But Annie knew that the only way to unlock this paralysis of fear was to make herself remember.

So she got out of bed and walked over to the window to look down onto the early morning quietness of the broad street. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and rewound the last few days.

Dorian’s lifeless body. Lift his hand – check he’s dead. Blind panic. Suitcase. Desk. Running through the bog. The Galway bus. Annie drew up each picture then discarded it like she was flicking through somebody else’s photo album. The Dublin train. The man offering her a cigarette. GPO post box. As she quickly referenced each event she reassured herself that she had left no clues behind. By focussing on single, innocuous details she was somehow able to forget the overwhelming fact of murder. Queue for boat. Holyhead terminal. Train from Wales. Annie could feel her stress lessen in picturing each truth, covering each track. The final scene was arriving at London’s Euston station in the early morning, then wandering the streets of London, in a clueless, miserable state wondering what the hell she was going to do, until Lara found her in Fred’s cafe.

That was it. They had come back here and she had slept, until now.

Her suitcase was on a chair by the window. She went over and opened it. She shivered at the contents. Stolen jewellery, a bloody apron. Things she had stolen from him. She took out the few items of clothes she had thrown in and some cash, then rummaged around and found a padlock. As a doctor, Dorian kept a padlock in every bag in the house, in case he needed to lock away medicines while travelling. She padlocked it then placed the suitcase squarely under the centre of the double bed so that it could not be seen from either side. She wanted to forget about the case and everything in it. She wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.

There was a tap on the door and Annie quickly jumped up.

‘I made you some coffee,’ Lara said, opening the door and handing her a mug.

‘Instant?’ Annie said, taking a sip of the acrid black liquid, laced with sugar.

‘Is there any other kind? I’m afraid I’m not much of a hostess.’

‘You’re a wonderful hostess,’ Annie replied, ‘taking a stranger into your home.’

‘Not much of a home, I’m afraid,’ she said, nodding around the rather grim and grubby decor. ‘Besides, a red-haired colleen straight off the boat? That virtually makes you family!’

Annie laughed. The fear was gone. In company, she felt safe.

‘I’m happy to pay rent,’ she said. ‘I can start looking for a job today.’

‘No need,’ Lara said. ‘With a face and a figure like yours, they’ll lap you up in Chevrons. The pay is okay and the work is easy enough, once you get used to it. And it’ll be even easier with these fantastic new uniforms.’

Lara waved a sketchpad in front of her.

‘I was up early putting some ideas together – thanks to you, friend.’

‘I don’t know that I’d be very good at waitressing,’ said Annie.

‘Look,’ Laura said, in a firm, pragmatic tone, ‘the most important thing is that you look absolutely gorgeous – and you’re a friendly person. They’re the two qualifications you need to do that kind of club work. Trust me – they’ll love you.’

It wasn’t difficult for Lara to persuade Shirley to give Annie a try-out. Good-looking girls were always a welcome addition in Chevrons and this one, with her long legs, striking face and red hair, was a knockout. Shirley put her on the lunchtime shift, there and then sending her and Lara straight into the changing room with a spare kitty outfit. Annie’s skinny limbs barely filled the ill-fitting costume and immediately she put it on Lara could see how uncomfortable she was in it. Annie kept picking at the back gusset with her long fingers to try to pull it down and make it less revealing. From the minute she hit the floor it was obvious that Annie was not cut out for the rough and tumble of nightclub work. The leering men made her visibly uncomfortable and the feisty English girls could not make head nor tail of her timid, ladylike manner. She tiptoed through the tables trying to smile politely at customers, but flinching every time one of them spoke to her.

After one hour, Shirley took Lara aside and declared, ‘Where did you get her from? She an even worse waitress than you! Get that lanky freak off my floor. She looks terrified and she’s upsetting the customers.’

Lara couldn’t argue. Annie was clearly excruciated by the whole experience and seemed relieved when Lara said her trial period was over.

‘Did I get the job?’ Annie asked.

‘Afraid not,’ Lara said apologetically. ‘I think she had somebody else lined up.’

Annie said, ‘Sorry, Lara.’

She was upset at having let her new friend down.

‘That’s OK,’ Lara said. ‘I’ll see you up in the flat later. Make yourself at home.’

Annie went back to the flat and busied herself cleaning it from top to toe. Then she took a lot of money out of her bag and went in search of a shop where she could buy groceries, including real coffee. She remembered, with a shudder, Dorian ordering coffee through the post from Fortnum & Mason’s, nonetheless wondering if the shop was nearby. She would cook Lara a magnificent meal that evening and start again, tomorrow, looking for work. Although she had not the first clue what she was qualified to do. Clearly not working in a nightclub, but office work was out – she had never learned to type – and she had very little schooling. She wasn’t creative or clever, like Lara. Maybe cleaning work? But where?

As she was thinking that very thought, she passed the door of Fred’s cafe, the place where she met Lara the day before, and saw a sign in the window. HELP WANTED.

It was an understatement. A building site had opened up in nearby World’s End and Fred’s small cafe was suddenly thronged with workmen every morning and evening. Most of them Irish and away from their families, and late lunchtime/early afternoon was their craziest time. Fred could barely manage the kitchen on his own and his Italian wife, Giuliana, was run off her feet.

When this stunning young Irish girl appeared at his kitchen counter Fred barely had time to look at her. The place was full, every seat taken, and Giuliana run ragged taking and delivering orders.

‘Excuse me?’ she said, her eyes straining to follow him as he darted in and out of the kitchen opening. ‘I saw a sign in the window and was hoping that…’

‘Can you start now?’ Giuliana appeared behind her.

‘I suppose…’

The older Italian woman ran around the counter, grabbed an apron and threw it at her.

Annie caught it.

‘Clear that table by the window, then get three shepherd’s pies and a liver and bacon…’

‘Sorry,’ Annie said, pulling the apron over her head, ‘what did you say – four…?’

‘Three shepherd’s pies and one liver and bacon – look in your pocket.’

Giuliana was already flying around to another table, four plates of steaming dinners balanced on her arms. Annie reached in her pocket and wrote down the order then ran into the kitchen with it. Fred snatched it off her, barely giving her a glance, then called her back.

‘Thank you darling. We’ll catch up when the men are fed.’

Annie smiled and the old cockney fry cook thought it was the sweetest smile he had seen in a long time.

For the next hour and half Annie ran, wiped, cleared and smiled at the customers. These were all big working men, many of them Irish. They were hungry and more interested in their dinners than her. When lunch was winding down a half-drunk man came in from the pub next door and made a lewd comment about her. Annie didn’t hear what it was but Giuliana chased him out the door with a wet tea towel to the back of the neck.

When the place cleared out Giuliana put up the CLOSED sign and made them a pot of coffee before they began clearing up for the early evening dinner shift. It was a quieter group, then. The Irish builders had their main meal in the middle of the day. Meat and potatoes, pies and stews. The 6 o’clock shift was unmarried office clerks who couldn’t cook for themselves: mixed grills, omelettes – occasionally even pasta, they had more genteel tastes.

‘Did I get the job?’ Annie asked. She genuinely had no idea. Especially after not having passed the test earlier at Chevrons.

Giuliana and Fred looked at each other.

‘Yes,’ they said in unison. Then Giuliana went over and gave her a big kiss on the cheek while Fred looked on enviously. They gave her the contents of the tips jar and said they would pay her hours at the end of the week when they totted them up.

Annie was over the moon, and so was Lara for her.

The next day Annie arrived at Fred’s at 7 a.m. as promised for the breakfast shift. She gingerly put down a strange looking heavy loaf in front of Fred, who was throwing a dozen sausages onto a huge pan.

‘What’s this?’ he said.

‘I thought you might like to try it. It’s soda cake. We eat it for breakfast at home. I heard one of the men saying how much he missed it yesterday. I thought – if he came in this morning we could surprise him with it. Or some of the Irish men might like it with breakfast.’ Then she reached down into her bag and pulled out another one. ‘This one is for you and your wife. To thank you for your kindness.’

Annie was not just a hard worker, cleaning and waiting tables with Giuliana like an old pro but, unlike his wife, she could cook, and, even more extraordinary, she cared about their customers. He called his wife in to show her what Annie had done, and they tore off and tasted a slice of the delicious, sweet bread. Both of them felt a little emotional. This Irish girl was sweet and sweet people were few and far between in their experience of London. In the moment that she presented them with the bread, the older couple made a silent vow to each other to look after her. Annie was beautiful, but more importantly, she had heart and she was vulnerable. She had not even asked what the pay was and they both had a feeling that she would work for tips, or even nothing. She wanted little more than their approval. Childless, her simple manner moved them. Within a week Fred had Annie working in the kitchen as his commie fry chef.

‘I don’t know who brought you up, girl, but they did a good job. Your mother should be proud of herself,’ Giuliana said to her after her third day. ‘Seeing my husband so happy in the kitchen doesn’t just come from a pretty girl – but one that can work as well. I better watch myself with you!’ The homely Italian woman was able to joke about Annie stealing her man because she could read in the girl’s eyes that no such thing would ever happen. Giuliana had no child of her own, but she had the instincts of a mother. She knew that something had happened to that girl, somewhere along the line. She would never ask what. She knew enough of the world to know that terrible things happened. Knowing about them was no use to anyone so she minded her own business. Within a month Fred and Giuliana had cast themselves as surrogate parents and were calling Annie ‘our girl’.

Annie loved her work, and she loved living in the flat with Lara. In less than a week her life seemed to have completely turned around. She felt more at home in London than she had felt anywhere since her mother died.