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got mine out. But he was furious.” She turned to shout back at the workers. “Theft – that’s what it is! You should be nicked.” But none of them took the bait.
    â€œYou talking about Sid?” asked David.
    â€œâ€™Course I am. He discharged himself, didn’t he? Wouldn’t stay in that place any longer. Quite right too – all that happens to you in hospital is you die and then they experiment with your body.”
    â€œWhere is he?” asked Jenny.
    â€œWhere we’re all going to have to kip tonight,” muttered Nell. “Down that tube station. It’ll fair freeze me bones off. Could be the death of Sid, it could.”
    Like the Roxy, the front of the underground station was boarded up, and the hoarding was plastered with flyposters, advertising everything from rock concerts to travelling circuses and from sale bargains to saunas and gym clubs. There didn’t seem to be any obvious way of getting in, and worshippers from a local church were just comingout into the street. Faintly, the twins could hear the thundering tones of an organ.
    â€œLet’s check out this alley,” said David. “Maybe there’s an entrance down there,”
    There was, and the wooden door in the hoarding was slightly ajar.
    â€œGot your torch?” asked Jenny.
    David nodded gloomily.
    This was worse than the Roxy, for the shut-in smell was much more acrid. The booking hall, with its ticket office and barriers, was still complete and undamaged but surrounded by mounds of stinking rubbish. Grey light filtered through the broken panes of skylights on to the posters peeling from the damp walls.
    â€œDo you think Mrs Garland is going to get us down there?” asked David.
    â€œMaybe she needs us,” said Jenny unexpectedly. “Maybe she
should
contact us again.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œHowever May and Leslie died, they’re still around, aren’t they? We can see them – and so can Sid. Do you think they’re trying to tell us something? Show us something? Do you think Mrs Garland wants it too?”
    David shrugged. “It’s no good playing these guessing games. We just need to take a look.” Trying to be assertive, he clambered over the barrier, Jenny following close behind.
    The twins walked cautiously down the silent escalator.
    â€œThere’s a light at the bottom,” said Jenny. “A very faint one. What can it be?”
    â€œIt looks like one of those Tilley lamps that fishermen use.” David’s voice was halting and Jenny could feel the fear licking at her too.
    Then the escalator began to move.
    The twins were almost thrown off the steps, so great was the sudden movement. Something was happening inside them, too. They felt a chill and a flickering distortion of their surroundings. For a few seconds the tunnel walls resembled melting plastic and then they suddenly returned to normal. With a snap, neon lights lit the shaft, the posters were brighter and intact, a young man played the guitar at the bottom and there were passengers on the escalator opposite.
    Their clothes were old-fashioned, with most of the men wearing long, shapeless macs, while some of the women wore very short skirts and others coats that almost brushed the stairs as they slowly climbed up. An occasional younger man wore a duffel coat and there were a few young people in kaftans and long Eastern dresses. The twins were gazing at them in amazement when a familiar black-haired figure emerged. Mrs Garland was riding up the escalator now, her head thrownback. She looked powerful, efficient and utterly single-minded.
    She mustn’t see us, Jenny tried to say, but no sound came from her lips. When she looked back at her brother, she could see he was swallowing, trying to say something, but, like her, he couldn’t speak.
    Mrs Garland’s dark eyes gleamed and she half raised a gaunt hand in greeting. Her fingers were long and bony