‘This is delicious,’ Kizzy says, tucking into the plate of lasagne, ‘such a treat, someone cooking for me for a change. I can’t remember, I actually can’t remember, the last time someone made me dinner.’

‘You’re so welcome,’ Danni-Jo replies, topping up Kizzy’s wine glass with more Prosecco and passing her the salad bowl. ‘I thought you could do with cheering up after the week you’ve had.’

Kizzy pushes her fuzz of ginger hair from her face and takes another forkful of pasta. ‘The table looks so nice,’ she comments, admiring the silver candelabra. ‘So thoughtful of you Danni-Jo, I really appreciate it.’

Danni-Jo takes a sip of her own drink. ‘Did you hear anything back from the police? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be more helpful… Did they pay your ex a visit or make any enquiries? They said something about checking the CCTV in the stairway.’

Kizzy shakes her head, her halo of hair wobbling into her plate. ‘No, nothing… They haven’t got back to me. I’m sure they’ve probably got much more important things to do than investigate the murder of my Esmerelda but…’

You’d think.

‘… but you’d think they might just drop me a courtesy call, you know, let me know they’re taking it seriously. I mean, I know she was poisoned, and I know it was him, that bastard,’ her face contorts, ‘it had to be.’

‘But how would he have got into your apartment?’

She’s playing devil’s advocate – feeling confident enough to.

Kizzy replaces her knife and fork and sits back in her chair. ‘I really don’t know… perhaps this is his way of letting me know that he can break in. I was worried something like this might happen. If he has, found me I mean, then who knows what he’ll do? Perhaps my Esme was a warning?’

She looks at Kizzy’s plate, hardly touched. ‘C’mon, you’ve got to eat,’ Danni-Jo’s voice is soothing, ‘you can’t let him get to you like this. This is what he wants, you in a state, not able to eat or sleep… upset and anxious.’

Kizzy guzzles more wine. ‘I know you’re right.’ She tentatively picks up the knife and fork again. She’s not hungry any more but she doesn’t want to be rude, not when her kind neighbour has gone to such an effort. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not the food, the food is delicious, it’s just me, Esmerelda… I’m frightened that he’s back and of what he might do to me. I know what he’s capable of.’

Danni-Jo reaches for her hand. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ she says, reassuring her, ‘you’ve got me, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.’ She squeezes her fingers in her own, watching as Kizzy’s eyes begin to fill up. ‘You’ve been really good to me Kizzy, like a surrogate mother, that’s what I told the police, that you’ve been like a mother to me. I’d never let anyone hurt you again.’

Her words seem to undo Kizzy completely and she makes a soft whinnying sound as she brushes away the tears streaking down her cheeks.

‘Really? Is that what you said to the police, that I’m like a mother to you?’

‘Yes, yes it is… and it’s true. Now come on, get that lasagne down you, it took me ages to make – Jamie Olivier makes it all look so easy!’

Kizzy laughs. ‘Well, you could give him a run for his money.’

There a moment’s pause as they resume eating, the clatter of cutlery amplified by their silence.

‘I will never have that now – a daughter – left it far too late.’

‘Well, I only wish I had a mum to look after,’ Danni-Jo says, ‘so let’s say from now on that you can be my Mummy Bear – and we’ll look after each other.’

‘I’d love that,’ Kizzy says, giggling, ‘Mummy Bear.’ She feels a little light-headed, must be the booze.

Danni-Jo watches her from across the table, sad, pathetic wretch that she is, drowning painfully in her own lack of self-worth, grateful for the slightest morsel of affection; just so trusting and desperate. How horrible it must be to be Karen Walker, trapped in a world of perpetual fear and disappointment forever preceded by unrealised hope. She looks at her with concealed pity and contempt. She understands.

‘We’ll skip desert and go straight to Irish coffee, if you’re not feeling that hungry,’ she says, beginning to clear away the plates.

‘I’m sorry Danni-Jo,’ Kizzy apologises, ‘I thought I felt okay, but Esmerelda…’ her voice trails off, ‘this has really got to me. I’m scared. Losing her like that – with her being murdered and everything… I went to see the doctor and she prescribed me some more anti-depressants. I’m cross with myself really because I thought this… I thought that moving here would be a new beginning for me, that I could start afresh, unafraid… I’ve spent my whole life being afraid.’

She understands. Danni-Jo goes to the kitchen and, smiling to herself, begins to prepare the Irish coffees. ‘We’ll have these on the sofa,’ she says, ‘I’ll put a film on. Maybe that will cheer you up. I’ve got Dirty Dancing on DVD, I know it’s your favourite.’

‘Well, I’ll drink this with you and then I must go to bed. I’m feeling so tired, unusually so,’ Kizzy rubs her forehead with her hand, fighting with it. ‘I’m sorry, Danni-Jo, all this effort you’ve gone to, as well.’

She dismisses the comment with wave of her hand. ‘Don’t be daft, what are daughters for?’

Kizzy looks at her then, almost lovingly, her head tilted to the side. ‘I feel so lucky you’ve come into my life,’ she says after a moment. ‘It’s like you were sent by the angels, do you know that?’ The wine has really gone to her head.

Danni-Jo is glad now that she cancelled her evening with the foot-fetish freak. He’d not been best pleased about her sudden rain check but c’est la vie. She had much more important business to attend to.

‘Look, if you’re feeling tired then perhaps you should go lie down, get some rest? Tomorrow’s a new day.’

She shows Kizzy out of the door. She’s stumbling now, her movements jerky and erratic.

‘I… I just feel so tired…’

‘Nearly there,’ Danni-Jo says, helping Kizzy as she struggles with the key to her apartment door, ‘it’s almost over.’