Forget Me Not

by M.J. Arlidge

Genres: Mystery; Thrillers

Synopsis

A city on the brink.
A mother on the edge.
A nightmare that only DI Helen Grace can end.
Sometimes, the darkest secrets hide in plain sight...

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

A gang war grips the city, and the police force is under fire from all sides. But Detective Inspector Helen Grace defies direct orders as she becomes drawn to the case of a missing teenager.

LOST BUT NOT ALONE

Naomi's mother is desperate for help - and Helen is her only hope. Keeping the investigation secret, she finds a disturbing trail of questions - and more who have vanished off the streets...

WILL THEY FIND HER IN TIME?

Sometimes, the truth hides in plain sight. But proving it is another matter entirely. The clock is ticking - and the only person looking for Naomi is about to meet her match.

*****

PRAISE FOR THE MILLION-COPY BESTSELLER M.J. ARLIDGE

'Chilling'
THE TIMES

'Addictive'
EXPRESS

'Truly excellent'
THE SUN

'Nobody does chilling suspense quite like M.J. Arlidge'
B.P. WALTER

Release date: July 4, 2024

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 464

Sample

‘Darren, I’m begging you …’

The words tumbled from her, choked, heartfelt, desperate.

‘Don’t do this, please …’

Naomi’s fingers were wrapped around her boyfriend’s trailing arm, praying that he would stop, listen to her, change his mind. But her words had no impact, the muscular young man ripping his arm away and marching purposefully on. Marlands Shopping Centre was crammed with late-night shoppers, many of whom were casting sidelong glances at the couple, but Naomi ignored them, hurrying after her lover. Darren’s blood was up, however, his pace relentless. Computer Exchange flashed by, then the pawnbrokers, then Rock Bottom Toys. The exit to Portland Terrace was only fifty yards away and Darren was making good progress in that direction. If Naomi was going to stop him, she had to do it now.

Lunging towards him, Naomi gripped Darren’s shoulder, arresting his progress, spinning him around. Immediately, his features convulsed with fury, his mouth opening in a snarling curse, but the desperate fifteen-year-old got in first.

‘Please, just tell me what you want from me. If I’ve done something wro—’

‘There’s nothing I could possibly want from you,’ the junkie sneered, extracting his arm.

‘But you loved me,’ Naomi insisted. ‘You said so a hundred times. I don’t understand what’s changed.’

‘That was then, this is now.’

Angered, the twenty-two-year-old tried to turn away, but Naomi held fast to his arm.

‘No, no,’ she insisted, fighting tears. ‘You can’t just walk out on me. I’ve given up everything for you. My family, my friends. You owe me.’

‘I owe you nothing,’ he hissed in response. ‘You knew full well what you were getting into.’

‘So what was this all about? This whole bloody thing?’

Naomi’s voice was piercing, shrill, tears staining her cheeks now, but she didn’t care. It was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, her misery blocking out everything else. ‘If you didn’t care for me, why did you tell me you did?’

Darren said nothing, shaking his head witheringly, as if bored by her questions. With each passing second, Naomi felt more ashamed, more humiliated, but still she couldn’t give up on him. He was all she had in the world.

‘Please, Daz, it’s me …’ she pleaded, softening her tone.

Naomi chanced a step forward, then another. Taking en-­courage­ment from his silence, she slipped her slender hands inside his jacket, bringing them to rest on his hips.

‘Your best girl.’

Standing on her tiptoes, Naomi raised her lips to his, kissing him.

‘I’ll be good to you, babes, I promise I will,’ she whispered. ‘You’re everything to me, have been since the moment I first saw you …’

Her boyfriend stared at her for a moment, surprised by this heartfelt confession. Then slowly the twenty-two-year-old lowered his face to Naomi’s and whispered, ‘You mean nothing to me, bitch. Get that into your thick skull.’

Naomi stared at him, lost for words. Then, before she could react, Darren placed a meaty hand on her chest and pushed with all his might. Taken off guard, Naomi tumbled backwards, tripping over her feet and crashing onto the polished floor. Pain ripped through her elbow as the wind was punched from her lungs, but before she could recover, Darren was in her face again.

‘You were useful to me for a while, now you aren’t. Got it?’

‘Is that all I was to you?’ Naomi cried, enraged. ‘Some mug who’d steal for you, lie for you, just so you could get a fix …’

‘Now you’re getting it,’ Darren smirked.

‘But all those things you said to me, all those promises you made …’ she moaned.

A broad grin spread across Darren’s face, amused by her naivety.

‘Jesus, you really are far gone. Do you think anyone could mean those things about you?’

He was laughing, cruel and self-congratulatory, his arrogance, his cynicism clear. How had Naomi not seen this? How had she fallen for this parasite? She wanted to rail at him, to vomit out her fury and disappointment, but no words came, her desolation total.

‘Good luck, babes,’ her ex-lover teased, rising. ‘You’re gonna need it …’

And with that, he was gone, sauntering out of the shopping centre and out of her life. Scrambling up onto her knees, Naomi watched him go, forlorn, disbelieving. All her hopes, all her dreams had suddenly gone up in smoke and she watched on in horror as her former boyfriend disappeared from view, before tipping her head back and howling out her agony.

The sound that came from him was almost inhuman; an anguished, animalistic scream.

Detective Inspector Helen Grace crouched over the injured teenager, her hands clamped to the bloody hole in his stomach. She was working hard to convince the young man that he was going to be OK, but he was obviously terrified. Despite Helen’s words of reassurance, the injured man cried out again, wild and desperate, appealing to his mother, God, anyone to end his torment, a thick belch of blood spurting out over Helen’s hands as he did so.

‘Jason, I need you to look at me. Can you look at me?’

‘It hurts so bad,’ the teenager moaned, his eyes scanning the heavens.

‘I know, but I’m right here with you and I’m going to make sure you’re OK. I’m a police officer, I know what I’m doing. You’ll be fine …’

To her surprise, the teenager started to weep. Whether this was provoked by the pain racking his body or the realization that the best he could hope for tonight was to be arrested and charged, Helen wasn’t sure, but it made no difference. Either way he was a pitiful sight. This boy, no more than seventeen years old, had wanted to play at being a gangster, but now faced the prospect of bleeding out in a cold, dark street.

‘The paramedics are coming,’ Helen added soothingly. ‘Any minute now, you’ll be on your way to South Hants Hospital. They’ll have you patched up and back on your feet in no time.’

And then what? Helen knew that the teenager would be surplus to requirements in the criminal fraternity now, even if he did somehow manage to avoid prison. He had messed up big time, ambushed whilst ferrying a holdall of cash across town, and would surely pay for his failure, via exile or death. Helen sincerely hoped it would be the former.

Turning, Helen craned round, trying to see past the crowd of onlookers. Despite her comforting words, the teenager was dying in front of her, so it was to her immense relief that she now heard the squeal of brakes, the sound of doors slamming, then two paramedics hurrying into view, pushing through the crowds. Racing over, they crouched down next to the injured teenager, the lead medic slipping on a pair of latex gloves as he relieved Helen of her charge.

‘His name’s Jason Matthews and he’s seventeen years old,’ Helen reported, wiping the gore from her hands as she straightened up. ‘Significant blood loss caused by two pistol shots to the abdomen. No other signs of injury. The shooters are long gone, so you’re safe to move him whenever you like.’

‘Let’s get cracking then,’ the paramedic breathed, nodding his thanks to Helen.

As he spoke, a third paramedic approached, pushing a stretcher, so Helen retreated, giving the emergency team the space they needed to work. Turning, she directed her steps towards the teenager’s dented moped, which remained on its side, its engine purring. Slipping on her gloves, Helen reached down to switch it off, before turning her attention to the ripped holdall that lay close by, now devoid of its precious contents. A few twenty-pound notes had been lost in the struggle, fluttering around the hushed street as the wind picked up. Methodically, Helen chased them down, gathering and bagging the notes in the hope of shedding some light on the hidden faces behind tonight’s bloodshed. As she did so, however, she noticed a young boy, no more than eleven, attempting to steal one of the missing notes, which had blown across to the other side of the street.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you …’ Helen growled.

Startled, the child retreated swiftly, disappearing into the shadows, leaving the abandoned note behind. Helen scooped it up quickly, sealed the bag, and then turned once more to take in the scene. It was a sight that was depressingly familiar, the escalating feud between rival drugs gangs in the city becoming ever more blatant, ever bolder. This was the third such incident in as many weeks, all of them played out in heavily residential areas, all of them involving deadly weapons, be they zombie knives, machetes or pistols. People in the city were desperate, ground down by spiralling living costs, rising crime and family breakdown, and when people were desperate, the dealers thrived. Drugs were big business in Southampton right now and com­petition was rife, which meant only one thing – bloodshed. Helen had the sickening feeling that the gangs in the city were gearing up for all-out war, a development that would have serious consequences for everyone, not least her own unit, which often found itself chasing thugs who shot first and asked questions later. Helen had been quickly on the scene tonight, hearing gunfire as she drove home, the shooters vanishing moments before she arrived. What would have happened if she’d arrived seconds earlier? Would she have found herself in the firing line?

Pushing these thoughts away, Helen returned to the paramedics, who were gently lifting the injured teenager onto a stretcher. This was the human cost of people’s desperation, the price of their addiction. Two years ago, this kid would have been at school, messing around with his mates, flirting with girls, behaving like an ordinary teenager. Now he was fighting for his life, blood seeping from his wounds, even as he screamed for his mother.

Would he live to see her again? Or would he die before he made it to the hospital? Helen couldn’t be sure. She had done all she could for him, might even have saved his life, but was it enough? Was it ever enough? With the situation worsening day by day, with each new outrage presaging further bloodshed, Helen felt increasingly helpless and despairing, as the city she knew and loved prepared to plunge headlong into the abyss.

‘I’d love to help you, but we just can’t.’

Naomi stared at the woman, unable to process what she was hearing.

‘But this is a homeless shelter, right?’ Naomi insisted, trying to keep her fear at bay.

‘Yes, but—’

‘And I’ve nowhere else to go. You’ve got to let me in.’

The manager, who called herself Tara, looked concerned, clearly affected by Naomi’s distress. For a moment, Naomi allowed herself to believe that the gatekeeper would now soften and relent, ushering her inside, but as Tara looked Naomi in the eye, her expression crestfallen and guilty, the teenager felt the hope die within her.

‘I want to, of course I do, but we don’t have any beds available. We’re completely full.’

Naomi stared at her dumbly. None of this made any sense. How many homeless people were there in Southampton? Yeah, you saw plenty of them on the street during the day, but surely there weren’t enough to fill this entire building?

‘There are another couple of hostels you could try,’ the woman continued earnestly. ‘One on Bridge Street, one on Thurlam Road.’

‘I’ve tried those,’ Naomi countered, her voice shaking. ‘They told me to come here, they said you’d sort me out.’

‘Do you have any family who can help?’

Naomi shook her head.

‘Friends?’

Naomi dropped her head to her chest. She really didn’t want to cry in front of this stranger, but she felt utterly desperate, as if the entire world had turned its back on her.

‘Look, perhaps you could come back later?’ the hostel manager continued. ‘It may be that someone vacates their bed, decides they’re better off elsewhere. These things do happen occasionally …’

It was a lie and they both knew it. Which is probably why she now reached out and squeezed Naomi’s hand, whispering, ‘Look after yourself, eh?’

Ten minutes later, Naomi found herself in Hoglands Park, trudging along the faded concrete paths. The skateboarders were out in force tonight, laughing and joking, as their boards clattered up and down the ramps. Their joy, their banter, seemed to mock Naomi, for whom every step was a struggle. The teenager felt robbed of energy, of resolve, of hope, as if nothing she did now would come to any good or make the slightest difference to her situation. Night was falling and she was alone in the city, with nowhere to go. Her misery was all-consuming, her fear palpable, yet the people who passed by seemed oblivious, hurrying to get back to their nice warm homes, as the rain clouds gathered above.

How had it come to this? Six months ago, Naomi had had a roof over her head, three square meals a day and someone to take care of her. It was just her and her mum, had been for years now, and even though they argued like hell, they’d been OK, or at least no worse than anyone else. Then he had come along – handsome, charming, manipulative Darren Haines. They’d met at a house party and he’d said all the right things, never leaving her side. She knew he was a bad boy, that he had a habit, but that only added to his allure. She knew better now, of course, having begged, stolen and borrowed to fund his grim addiction, having endured his vicious, drug-fuelled rages, having lived in that awful squat for over three months. But back then she was hooked – hooked on love, on rebellion, on proving to everyone that she could stand on her own two feet.

What a fool she’d been. What a naive, deluded, pathetic fool. She’d followed that boy – no, that man – to the moon and back and where had it got her? To Hoglands Park, with night closing in and the gunmetal clouds starting to spit on her. Perhaps it was all she deserved. Thinking back to the abuse she’d rained down on her mother, Naomi felt sick with shame. Her mum been trying to protect her only child, to warn Naomi off a boyfriend who was way older than her and who was obviously trouble. What had been her reward? Vicious rejection and vile accusations. Naomi shuddered now to think that she’d labelled her mother lonely, bitter, jealous, when she’d simply been trying to keep her on track, keep her in school, keep her from sinking into the gutter. Why? Why had she been so stupid? So cruel?

Naomi pressed on, avoiding the eyes of the men who passed by, seeing danger in every stranger, every movement, every shadow. Where was she supposed to go? Where would she be safe? She had lived in this city all her life, but now felt utterly bewildered, uncertain where to go or what to do. Should she head to the bus station? No, that was full of creeps and Darren occasionally dealt there. The train station, then? No, the police always moved people on there, she’d seen them do it. The Common? Just the thought of that made Naomi shiver, being out there alone in the cold, surrounded by those deep, dark woods …

Naomi was shaking now, fear mastering her. She’d have to find somewhere outdoors to bed down, but the temperature was dropping fast and what if someone bothered her? How could she defend herself? She had nothing but her coat, a few pounds and her phone.

Her phone. Naomi paused, running her hand over the smooth surface of her Samsung. It was a mad idea, an out­rageous thought given everything she’d done, but what choice did she have? Quickly, she scrolled through her contacts, until she located ‘Mum’. Her thumb hovered, hesitant, guilty, then taking the plunge, she hit Call.

Naomi’s heart was thumping as she waited for the call to connect, then suddenly it was ringing. Immediately, Naomi felt her whole body tense up. What was she going to say? What could she say after the way she’d behaved? Then suddenly, the call was answered, her mum’s familiar voice punching through, urgent and fearful.

‘Naomi? Is that you, love?’

Naomi was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak.

‘Naomi, are you there?’

And now it hit home – the guilt, the all-consuming guilt. Naomi had turned her back on this woman, humiliated her, destroyed her. What right did she have to call on her now?

Naomi hung up without a word. Her chest felt heavy, tears were pooling in her eyes, and she hurried on her way, determined not to appear distressed or vulnerable in this nasty place. She’d barely taken three steps, however, before her phone started to ring – her mum calling back. This time Naomi didn’t hesitate, rejecting the call and turning off her phone. She had made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

Pulling her coat up round her ears, Naomi continued on her lonely journey through the park, as the heavens finally opened and the rain cascaded down.

‘Is he going to make it?’

DC Paul Jennings’ question was terse and to the point as usual. Crossing the incident room, Detective Sergeant Charlie Brooks stuck a picture of Jason Matthews on the board, before turning to face the rest of the unit.

‘Honestly, I’ve no idea,’ she replied. ‘He’s in theatre now and the surgical team are saying it’s touch and go. All we do know is that if DI Grace hadn’t happened to be close by, the poor boy would be dead already.’

‘Poor dealer,’ Jennings corrected her.

‘Whatever his profession, he’s someone’s son, someone’s brother,’ Charlie retorted, an edge to her voice now. ‘Moreover, he’s a resident of this city and as such it’s our job to find who was behind this attack. This seventeen-year-old boy was the victim of a premeditated attack, one which may yet cost him his life. Which is why I want you lot to drop whatever else you’re doing and focus on this. DC Wilson, is there anything specific that links this attack to other recent gang-related activity?’

‘Nothing obvious,’ DC Japhet Wilson replied, rising to his feet. ‘Generally it’s dealers who’ve been targeted recently, warning them off other people’s territory. This is the first time a cash courier’s been attacked, so it’s possible it was an inside job.’

‘Or it may be an escalation in the conflict,’ Jennings countered. ‘All the recent attacks have involved two gangs – the Main Street crew and the Cobras. So far it’s been minor league stuff, but we know that Matthews runs with the Cobras, so maybe this is the Main Street mob upping the ante, cutting off the Cobra’s cash supply at source, using those funds to up their street presence, buy weapons, drugs …’

‘But the MO, the weapons are different,’ Wilson insisted. ‘The other attacks were chance occurrences and in both cases knives were used. This seems to be a well-organized ambush, using a firearm.’

‘Like I said, an escalation,’ Jennings concluded, as if Wilson had just proved his point.

‘Any news on the gun?’ Charlie intervened, attempting to keep the conversation on track.

Now it was DC Malik’s turn to rise, much to Charlie’s relief. She was the most level-headed of their junior officers and unlikely to be drawn into a cock fight.

‘Forensics are on it,’ Malik replied. ‘But the shell casings suggest it was a modified Glock. Not cheap or easy to get hold of and a very reliable weapon. Uniform haven’t found anything in the vicinity, so we have to assume the shooter is still in possession of it.’

‘Which is why he have to track them down ASAP,’ Charlie declared, rapping the board with her knuckles. ‘This attack took place in the middle of Freemantle, a heavily residential area. Plenty of families living round there, lots of potential for collateral damage. And the culprits are still at large, potentially planning more attacks, so we need to pull out all the stops. If our victim survives, obviously he’s our first port of call, but in the meantime, I want you to reach out to any contacts you have on the street, anyone who might have information about a targeted attack on the Cobras by rival gangs. If you have any leverage, any minor offence that you might overlook in exchange for information, use it. DC Wilson, I’d like you to run the rule over firearms offences in the last six months, anything that might link this modified Glock to a specific individual or supplier.’

‘Sure thing.’

‘DC McAndrew, I’d like you to take point on triangulation. Find out what phone the victim was carrying, see if you can trace his movements over the last couple of weeks. Any repetitive patterns, any significant locations, I want to know about them.’

‘Straightaway,’ the experienced officer replied promptly.

‘The rest of you, I want us to target anyone and everyone connected with Jason Matthews.’

Charlie picked up her marker pen, drawing spider lines from Matthews’ mugshot to different circles of interest.

‘Known associates. Family and dependents. Girlfriends. Anyone he’s served time with. Anyone he’s sold to. We’ll target his known addresses, bank accounts and probation records tomorrow, but tonight I want us to be speaking to his people, seeing what we can glean about his movements, his loyalties, any specific problems he’s had recently. Let’s do a deep dive please. Any questions?’

Charlie scanned the sea of faces, but saw only purpose and determination.

‘Right, then let’s get to it.’

The unit broke up, heading off to do Charlie’s bidding. As they did so, Charlie stole a look at her watch, depressed to discover it was gone nine o’clock. She had worked late every night this week, way past her overtime allowance, and another late finish beckoned. Sighing, she turned to her desk, only to find DC Paul Jennings blocking her path.

‘Everything all right, boss?’ Jennings asked solicitously.

‘Fine and dandy,’ Charlie replied evenly. ‘Another day in paradise …’

She made to leave, but Jennings stepped forward, cutting off her escape route. He was a powerful presence, muscular, handsome and imposing, but tonight he wore a gentle, sympathetic expression.

‘Only I was thinking, if you want to head off, I’m sure the rest of us can handle things here. You’ve done four straight lates as it is.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m not sure the new station chief would appreciate me going AWOL whilst DI Grace is still at the hospital.’

‘But we know what we’re doing and it’ll take us the best part of the night to dig up Matthews’ associates. Why don’t you take a break, go home, see those lovely kids of yours?’

The offer seemed sincere, but Charlie knew it was nothing of the sort. She’d seen this countless times before – apparently well-meaning male officers laying traps for her to walk into. If a female officer clocked off early for ‘family reasons’, she would forever be dismissed as a part-timer, lacking in commitment and resolve. It had always been an unwritten rule that women in the Force had to work twice as hard as their male counterparts just to be taken seriously. It made Charlie’s blood boil – it was so retrograde, so unfair – but that was the way the system worked and she was powerless to change it.

‘Thanks for the offer, DC Jennings, but I’m good. Do you have anyone you need to get back for?’

Charlie knew the answer, which is partly why she asked it. Taking the hint, Jennings retreated, sharing a whispered comment with colleagues as he did so. Annoyed, Charlie marched back to her desk. There was no reason on God’s earth why she should still have to prove herself to junior colleagues like Jennings, after all her long years of service, but it seemed a female officer could never do enough to confirm that she was worthy of her place on the team. Which is why Charlie would miss her daughters’ bedtime tonight.

Again.

She clamped her eyes shut, praying that sleep would come. But her heart was thumping, her mind racing, and it was impossible to banish her fears.

Naomi had walked for over an hour in the driving rain, desperately searching for a dry, sheltered space where she could hide away from the world. But she had no clue where to go and whenever she did manage to find a safe, secluded spot, she soon discovered that some other desperate soul had claimed it. She’d encountered wide-eyed crackheads, an elderly woman who was convinced Naomi was her sister, even a pregnant teen who’d told Naomi in no uncertain terms to move on. As each minute passed, Naomi’s spirits had plummeted further. Her jeans were saturated, her hoodie too, and her resolve was fast dissolving. Part of her was fearful she’d have to keep walking all night, risking hypothermia or worse, whilst another part of wondered if that might be the best plan. At least she’d be on the move. At least she’d be safe. But then suddenly she’d stumbled upon the underpass which, though filthy and unsettling, provided shelter from the driving rain, and that had decided it for her.

For a moment, she’d felt a sliver of relief, as she stepped out of the deluge and into the dry. But this feeling soon evaporated as she took in the dimly lit flyover, which was haunted by the desperate and dispossessed – slumbering homeless, muttering junkies and shivering sex workers, plying their trade without hope or emotion. Tentatively, Naomi had picked her way past a sea of hostile faces, which turned to take in the new arrival with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. Normally, Naomi would have hurried through this gloomy space, keen to be back in the open air, but tonight she took her time, desperately seeking sanctuary. At first, her search seemed doomed to failure, but eventually she found a berth that appeared to be unoccupied. It was an old service door, allowing access to the tunnel’s electrical and lighting systems, the large danger sign fixed to it urging pedestrians to keep clear. But the wide doorstep was large enough for her to bed down in, so Naomi claimed the vacant spot, trying her best to make herself comfortable. Curling up on the cold concrete, she’d pulled her coat tight around her, tugging the hood hard round her face until it pinched her skin, then closed her eyes, seeking oblivion.

It was a fruitless endeavour. Not simply because of the dull ceiling lights that cast a sickly glow over the dirty interior, nor because of the overpowering smell of car fumes from the vehicles that shot by without a second glance, but because of the noise. The rain continued to hammer down outside, water pouring from a broken pipe at the entrance to the underpass, and above that could be heard the cat calls, screams and banter of this forsaken place’s occupants. Gradually this tumult had abated, as the traffic eased off, the junkies passed out and the sex workers called it a night, but even so, the unfamiliar noises, sudden, sharp and unsettling, kept Naomi alert and on edge. She desperately needed sleep, she was wrung out physically and emotionally, but couldn’t quell the fear that twisted her insides, or the cloying cold of her saturated clothes. Never in her wildest dreams had Naomi thought she would end up here, shivering, desperate and scared. But this was her reality now.

She willed herself to relax, to get some rest, if only to ward off the light-headedness that gripped her. But her mind kept projecting forwards. What would happen in the next hour? Before the night was out? Tomorrow? Would she have to resort to begging to survive? Hanging around the homeless hostel in the faint hope that one of their occupants would be kicked out? Something worse? Naomi was pondering this, her mind full of dark thoughts, when she heard a new noise.

Footsteps. Soft and measured, approaching her hiding place. Instantly, she tensed up. Was this unfamiliar noise the staggering progress of a crazed junkie or click clack of a sex worker? No, these footsteps seemed confident, purposeful. Unnerved, Naomi scrunched her body up, trying to disappear into her hidey-hole, but her attempt to blend into her surroundings failed, as the intruder came to a stop directly in front of her.

‘Hello, love. Are you all right?’

Naomi reacted, startled, but there was nothing hostile or alarming about the man’s voice. In fact, he sounded warm, gentle, concerned.

‘This isn’t any place for a young girl like yourself to be. What on earth are you doing here?’

In spite of herself, Naomi craned round to see who this well-meaning soul was. But instantly she recoiled, the powerful beam of his torch blinding her.

‘There’s no need to be alarmed, I’d like to help you. There’s all sorts of weirdos and dropouts down here, you don’t belong with them. So what do you say? Shall we find somewhere better for you to spend the night? There must be hostels or B&Bs that can take you or at the very least a soup kitchen where you can rest up for a bit.’

It was a seriously tempting thought. What wouldn’t Naomi give now for a dry, safe space and a hot cup of soup? So despite her natural caution, she turned to the man once more, hoping that her luck might be about to change. She wanted to see his face, to read his intentions, but the glare of his torch was still blinding and she could only make out a dark shape behind. Even so, she found herself responding to him now, as he reached out a strong hand to her, saying in a kind, encouraging voice:

‘Come on, love. Let’s get you somewhere warm.’

Sheila Watson’s heart pounded as she yanked back the corrugated iron sheet. She didn’t know this part of town, had never set foot in a squat before and would never usually have ventured out alone so late at night. But Naomi’s silent call had got her seriously rattled, hence her desp