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course.’
    ‘You’ll be in the spare room,’ said Frankie. ‘The bed’s made up.’
    ‘I’ll take it upstairs with my bag. We’ll tell Sharon later about Monty’s things.’
    ‘Take the other stuff too. I’ve got his watch and ring. They gave them to me at the hospital. Poor Sharon couldn’t look.’
    ‘You can’t blame her,’ said Margaret, as she gathered up Monty’s stuff, then went to her car and got her bag, then went upstairs to her room. When she had put his jacket in the wardrobe, unpacked her few things and stashed the cocaine in her shoe, she put Monty’s wallet and phone in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, keeping the keys so that she could get in and out of the house, and went back downstairs. On the way she peered into the master bedroom where Sharon, Peter and Susan were lying fast asleep again, on top of the bed, the curtains drawn against the sun.
    She rejoined Frankie who looked even more shattered. ‘They’re all asleep,’ she said. ‘And so should you be. You look knackered.’
    ‘Things to do first. Let’s call Roxie, I’ve got her number. By the way I just called Joyce.’ Joyce was Monty’s secretary. A single woman fast approaching retirement age, she had become part of the fabric of the family. ‘She couldn’t speak she was so upset. Is this how it’s going to be?’ said Frankie, her eyes misty.
    Margaret nodded. ‘You know it will, at least for a bit. What about Monty’s mother?’ she asked.
    ‘I haven’t had the heart. You know she’s ill?’
    Margaret nodded again. ‘Do you think she’ll be well enough to come down?’
    ‘I don’t know. She’s all alone up there in Norwich. It’ll be a terrible shock. Monty was her only child. I don’t know what she’ll do.’ She looked confused at the phone in her hand. ‘What was I doing?’
    ‘Calling Roxie,’ said Margaret. ‘Or do you want me to?’
    Frankie shook her head and, using the phone on the kitchen wall, she dialled the number she took from the diary she kept in her handbag. She listened for a few seconds, then said. ‘Roxie, it’s Frankie. I know it’s early. Listen, listen. This isn’t a social call. I’ve got very bad news.’
    A pause.
    ‘It’s Monty,’ she went on. ‘He’s dead.’
    Another pause.
    ‘A car crash. Can you come over?’
    A third.
    ‘You can. Great. It’ll be good to see you. Margaret’s here. She’s staying. You can stay at mine. How soon can you make it?’
    A further pause.
    ‘Thanks Dolly. Let us know what time and we’ll get you picked up. It’ll be good to see you. See you later.’ Replacing the receiver, she turned to Mags. ‘She’ll get the first flight she can. She’s got a good manageress at the salon who she can leave in charge. She’ll go to Gatwick, and phone when she knows what time she’s arriving. You’ll pick her up won’t you?’
    Margaret nodded.
    ‘She sounded strange,’ said Frankie.
    ‘Nothing new there. She always sounds strange, our Roxie. Anyway, you just broke bad news.’
    ‘No. Not like always. Even with what I told her. Something’s wrong.’
    ‘We’ll find out when she gets here. Some bloke or other as usual.’
    ‘Suppose so. I’ll stay here. You get some sleep if you can. You don’t know how late she’ll be.’
    ‘What about you Frankie? You look dead on your feet,’ said Margaret.
    ‘I’ll manage. I’ll sleep later.’
    ‘Come on Frankie, you’re always looking after everyone else. You need to take care of yourself too.’
    ‘I’m sure,’ said Frankie.
    ‘OK, but I don’t know if I can sleep.’
    ‘Try. Now go.’
    And Margaret did as she was told.
    When she had gone, Frankie put her head on her arms where she sat and finally fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.

11
     
     
     
    Margaret left the kitchen and headed upstairs to the quiet of her room where she lay on the bed, fully clothed apart from her boots, and pulled the duvet over her. She was used to sleeping with her clothes on in her job, and