When bad things come to light about someone, it’s easy to overlook what was good about them.

For Sasha Savage, only her close friends can remember what she was really like. They could tell you everything from the name of her first crush (some carefully constructed, badly vetted boy band bassist currently serving jail time for sex with a minor), to what she told them was her guiltiest secret (the fact that she still dreamed her first time would be with him). She could laugh at herself, looked out for others, and was even ranked as ‘trustworthy’ in the last online quiz they ever took together, entitled Fake or Mate?

‘Mince. Mince!’

The baby on the kitchen floorboards gurgled happily when her mother turned to face her. At first, Angelica Savage looked unsure if she had heard her youngest child correctly. When the little one repeated the word for a third time, she shrieked with delight, set down the knife on the chopping board, and scooped her into her arms.

‘You clever girl’ she said, and spun around with her in sheer delight.

Katya was late to the family, and a surprise to her parents. With two older siblings, her father sometimes said that Kat needed a big personality as a matter of survival. She displayed this in the form of an easy smile and tendency to babble and coo as a means of communication. As Kat had yet to show any interest in climbing onto her feet, Angelica regarded this moment as a milestone in her development. Just then, on hearing the front door open, she was ready to share the news with her husband.

‘Something smells good,’ said Titus, and parked his leather satchel against the dresser. ‘I had to skip lunch today, so I’m famished.’

‘Guess what?’ Angelica stood before him, a late sun pouring in through the French windows behind her, which cast both mother and child in silhouette. ‘Go on, guess!’

After such a long day, including an afternoon spent poring over documents and spread sheets from a memory stick that shouldn’t have been in his possession, Titus was in no mood for games.

‘I give up,’ he said, as Angelica moved out of the glaring sun to soften him with a kiss. She knew Titus could be a little grumpy on his return from work, but it didn’t last long once he was back in the family fold. ‘Is it good news or bad?’ Titus asked. ‘If it’s bad, it can wait until after supper. I can’t digest bad news on an empty stomach.’

Beaming still, Angelica gestured at the child in her arms. Katya was gnawing at her fist, a mark of her latest teething troubles. Titus watched her drooling all over her little knuckles and sensed his mood lifting. She was a sweetheart, spun from sugar and wide-eyed innocence. He was looking forward to seeing her incisors come through.

‘It isn’t bad news,’ said Angelica. ‘It’s not even good news. It’s amazing news!’

‘Go on.’ Titus touched his palm to the little girl’s cheek. Katya beamed and giggled. ‘What have I missed?’

‘Listen.’ Angelica turned her attention to the child in her arms. ‘Do it again, Kitty Kat. Do it for Daddy.’

Katya continued to suck at her fingers. It meant when she made a noise it was muffled. Gently, Angelica removed her fingers from her mouth.

‘Mince!’

Angelica switched her attention back to Titus, who stood rapt.

‘Kat’s first word!’ she declared.

‘Mince! Mince!’

‘Mince?’ Slowly, a smile eased across his face. ‘Oh, Kat, that’s beautiful! What a proud moment this is!’

Sharing in his delight, Angelica handed their child across. Titus squeezed her to his chest and then raised the chuckling toddler over his head.

‘Mince!’

‘I’m not even cooking mince,’ said Angelica.

‘Maybe it’s her favourite.’ Titus returned the child to the floor, where several toys lay waiting for her. ‘So, what’s for supper?’

‘Leftovers,’ she said. ‘Nothing special, I’m afraid.’

For a moment, Titus appeared disappointed. Still, he managed a smile for his wife. He understood that nothing could go to waste, even if it lacked the taste and intensity from the first time round.

‘In your hands,’ he said anyway, ‘I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Now, what’s everyone else doing?’

‘Ivan and Grandpa are in their rooms.’ Angelica returned to the hob before she finished. ‘We’re expecting Sasha any time now.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Oh, just out,’ she said, with her back to Titus. ‘I’m not sure where.’

Titus considered this news in silence. Out without knowing where didn’t sound good in his books. Yes, Sasha was a growing girl, but somehow it was all just going a bit too fast for his liking. He didn’t want to keep her under lock and key. Far from it. But if she was out there taking risks, he wanted to make sure she kept those risks to a minimum, or even eradicated them completely. He had been raised to believe in this approach to life, and that’s what he strived to pass on to the next generation.

‘Sasha really needs to let us know where she’s going,’ he grumbled. ‘Have you texted her?’

Angelica faced her husband.

‘She promised to be home in time for supper,’ she said, with some tension in her voice. ‘We have to give her a chance.’

Titus held her gaze for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged. He returned his attention to his youngest daughter, who was shuffling across the floorboards. Slowly, his expression brightened.

‘You know it won’t be long before Katya eats with us. She’s shaping up to be quite the Savage.’

Angelica smiled adoringly.

‘All in good time,’ she said. ‘Let the last of her teeth come through first.’

Titus nodded to himself and then lifted his daughter into his arms.

‘Well, let’s hope that day comes soon. It’ll be such an honour to have all my family around the table!’

Oleg Fedor Savadski, a former officer in the Russian Red Army, took a pinch of fish food and sprinkled it into the bowl. This was how Sasha found him when she reached his open door.

‘Hey, Grandpa. What’s happening?’

‘Do you know what goldfish thrive on more than anything else?’ he asked, peering through the glass as the two inhabitants rose to nibble at the flakes.

‘Is it their short-term memory?’ Sasha closed the door behind her. ‘I should imagine forgetting your past and starting afresh must be quite appealing sometimes.’

Oleg glanced at his granddaughter for a moment, before returning his attention to the bowl.

‘The answer is fish meal and fish oil,’ he told her, and turned to show her the tub in his hand. ‘It’s central to their diet. Feasting on their own kind is what brings out the very best in them. Yes, you can offer them a vegetable substitute but they quickly lose their zest, and I only want the best for my babies.’

Oleg, known simply to his family as Grandpa, was exactly one year away from celebrating a century in this world. Like his son, Titus, he sported a bald dome and thick eyebrows. His long grey beard was the most striking aspect of a man who had shrunken and withered over the years. It made him appear immensely wise, like someone who had produced several tomes of epic Russian novels. It was a look that fell away when food became trapped in the strands, however. Then he would appear more like the kind of lost soul you might find shouting at bins in a back alley. Since the last of his teeth had lost their moorings, Grandpa preferred his food in liquidised form. Whatever was on the menu, Angelica just passed it through the blender and he would literally lap it up. Like the rest of the family, Grandpa had enjoyed a stir fry made up of the leftovers from the day before. His bowl sat on a tray at the table under the skylight, along with the straw he had used to ingest it.

‘I can take that down for you,’ said Sasha, who had noticed the bowl.

‘It can wait,’ Grandpa told her. ‘You’re welcome to stay here for a while. I heard all the shouting downstairs just now.’

Grandpa occupied the loft space in the family home. It had been converted into simple, clean and bright quarters by Titus when he came to live with them following the passing of his wife. Both Sasha and Ivan had grown up sharing the house with him. Not that he left his room very often. Still, his door was always open for anyone who wished to spend time with him. Sasha considered herself lucky. Oleg wasn’t the kind of grandfather who would sit there with one hand cupped to his ear and mumble incomprehensibly. Above all, he liked to listen as much as talk, which is why Sasha had headed upstairs having fallen out with her father.

‘Why does he have to be so controlling?’ she asked, taking the chair where Grandpa had just finished his stir fry smoothie. ‘Sometimes it feels as if he’d like me to be fitted with an off switch when I don’t live up to his expectations.’

‘Is this about Jack?’ he asked, and placed the tub beside the fish bowl. ‘I’ve heard all about him from Ivan.’

Sasha rolled her eyes.

‘So, you know he’s a vegetarian.’

Grandpa shuffled across the room. He peered through the skylight. There were no windows in his attic space. Just several points that offered him a clear view of the heavens above, as well as pictures on the wall of family and places from his past.

‘There are worse things in this world,’ he said. ‘And your father is only being protective.’

‘Has he always been like this?’ asked Sasha, as Grandpa took a seat opposite her. He nodded and regarded his granddaughter.

‘Since he was a little boy. But you have to understand why family is so important to him. He knows his roots, Sasha. I come from nothing. Nechevo. When I arrived in this country with your grandmother, we had only the rags on our backs. We’d been through hell to get here. The experience changed us both as human beings, and left him with a very strong sense that to survive this life no matter what, you stick together. It’s what we did,’ he said to finish, and looked at the table. ‘During the Siege.’

The signature at the foot of the letter was convincing. Ivan had been practising for some time. So, when the boy handed the letter across to Mrs Risbie, the school counsellor, he was confident she would believe the session that was about to take place had parental consent. In Ivan’s view, it was in both their interests that his father wasn’t involved.

‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked.

They were sitting across from one another on cheap and worn sofas. Mrs Risbie wore her fringe like a badly closed pair of curtains. She curled one side behind her ear, which proved unsuccessful when she reached for a cup of tea on the low table between them. Ivan ignored the glass of weak squash that she had made for him.

‘I feel fine,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

As a psychologist working part time in a school environment, Mrs Risbie did her level best to make her room look as informal as possible. She made no notes, preferring to maintain eye contact with anyone who came to see her.

‘Actually, I thought we’d start with an exercise,’ she said. ‘Would you like to do an exercise, Ivan?’

‘Do you want to do an exercise?’ he asked.

‘I’d like that.’ Mrs Risbie had already stashed the pack of square picture cards down the side of the sofa in readiness for the moment. She plucked out the pack and quickly thumbed through to find one to begin. ‘It’s very simple,’ she said, and selected a card to show the boy. ‘Each picture features the face of a child. I want you to look at them in turn and tell me what her expression says about how she’s feeling.’

‘Is that it?’ asked Ivan, who was already beginning to sound bored. ‘Well, seeing that she’s smiling in that one I’d say she’s happy.’

‘Very good.’ Mrs Risbie brought the next card to the front.

‘Perplexed,’ he said after a moment.

‘Excellent!’

Ivan studied the next card, and then sat back in his seat. ‘Thoughtful. Reflective, perhaps?’

Mrs Risbie smiled and nodded. The kid didn’t seem to have an issue relating to other people. Given his vocabulary, it was simply revealing a higher than average intelligence.

‘How about this one?’ she asked, and flipped around the picture of the girl with the sad face. It showed her looking down, with tear-stained cheeks and her lower lip jutting.

Ivan sat forward again. He studied the picture for a while, tipping his head one way and then the other.

‘It’s a tough one,’ he said, before looking back at Mrs Risbie again. ‘She looks like someone who can’t take a joke.’

‘Right.’ At times like this, Mrs Risbie wished she could put the pupil on pause while she rushed to write down some observations. Instead, she nodded sagely and placed the cards flat on the table. ‘Ivan, has there ever been a time when you’ve felt sad?’

The boy sat on his hands while he thought about this. He looked to the floor, pressing his lips together. Mrs Risbie couldn’t help noticing how focused he seemed. Just waiting for him to answer left her feeling tense.

‘When people don’t understand me,’ he said eventually, and looked directly into her eyes. ‘That’s when I feel angry… sorry, I mean sad.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Risbie shifted in position. Ivan wasn’t unpleasant company. He was polite. He listened. He considered every question. Even so, there was something about him she found unsettling, though she reminded herself not to entertain such unprofessional thoughts.

‘How is home life?’ she asked next, hoping to build a bigger picture. ‘Tell me about your family.’

This time, Ivan didn’t hesitate in his answer. Much to the surprise of Mrs Risbie, he sat back in his seat and provided a full and detailed description of a seemingly content, stable and supportive domestic environment. By the time he had finished, stopped by the lunch-break bell, she had drawn her own conclusions. Often kids from damaged backgrounds felt the need to protect their parents by making out that everything was fine. Ivan didn’t seem to fit into this category. It really hadn’t sounded forced or tailored, as if he had just told her what she wanted to hear. Nor were there any holes or inconsistencies in the picture he had painted. Instead, the boy had spoken in detail about each family member with heartfelt love and admiration. That had extended to Ivan’s grandfather and siblings, and though it was clear that he and Sasha liked to wind each other up, it was her considered opinion that he came from a very close unit indeed.

‘Can I go now?’ he asked, having stopped abruptly when the bell rang for break time. Mrs Risbie was surprised that Ivan didn’t want to continue, given how enthusiastically he had just been talking about their best ever holiday.

‘Well, I was enjoying your account of the safari,’ she said, keen for him to continue. ‘Looking out for all those wildebeest must’ve been fun. Animal conservation is an admirable cause.’

Ivan looked confused for a moment, as if perhaps she had misunderstood something, but nodded all the same.

‘I really should go,’ he said, and gathered his schoolbag from the floor. ‘Do I need to come back again?’

Mrs Risbie considered this for a moment. There was nothing in Ivan’s life that needed unpicking, she decided. Yes, he had some difficulties empathising with people, especially those in need of help or sympathy, but that clearly didn’t apply when it came to his life at home. The kid was just a little odd. That didn’t make him a bad apple.

‘Shall we see how you get on?’ she suggested as Ivan Savage rose to leave. ‘My door is always open to you.’

When his face went on to make the newspapers, Vernon English didn’t seem like the kind of person a company would hire as a private investigator. With his soft leather cap, worn at an angle, his flattened nose and stubbly, hangdog chops, he looked more like a boxing trainer ready to throw in the towel.

‘Could passengers move along the aisle, please? We can’t close the doors if people are pressing against them.’

Vernon was cheap, however, which made him attractive to a struggling organisation at the mercy of a hostile takeover. Just then, the man responsible for moving in on the company was travelling to work by tube. Vernon could just about see him across the crowded carriage. When the company’s boss had first called Vernon’s office, which wasn’t an office at all but the mobile phone in his pocket, the man sounded desperate. Titus Savage is set to pounce on us, is what he told the private investigator. Everyone knows he’s unconventional in the way he does business. We need to prove he’s actually breaking laws if we stand any chance of survival. Get the dirt, Mr English. Do whatever it takes so we can persuade the man to prey elsewhere.

‘The gentleman in the cap and quilted bodywarmer. Will you please find some space or step off and wait for the next train. There’s one right behind.’

It took a moment for Vernon to realise that the conductor on the Tannoy was addressing him directly. He glanced around. Everyone was looking in his direction. Much to their annoyance, he used his considerable weight to push himself further into the carriage.

‘Sorry,’ he grumbled, as the doors finally closed. ‘Sorry, is that your foot?’

There was no way that Vernon was going to lose sight of Titus Savage. He’d been on the case for just a short time, but already there had been a suspect exchange in a back alley. Vernon had noted it all from his favourite observation post, which was on a high stool facing out of a coffee shop with a grande latte in one hand and crumbs from an almond croissant all down his front. Now he had chosen to follow Savage home. It was important that he built a complete picture of the man, not just at work but also at play. As the tube pulled away, Vernon reached up from the throng to grab the rail. Beside him, level with his armpit, a young woman closed her eyes, crinkled her nose and evidently tried to picture herself in her special place. Vernon pretended not to notice her. He did the very same with the bald man in the silk scarf further down the carriage. Titus was standing over a couple in matching anoraks who were consulting a map of London. He too was holding onto the rail, and seemed totally lost in thought. The private investigator paid him no more than a cursory glance. Titus lived some way out from the city, and would be travelling eight more stops. Until then, Vernon assured himself, while gazing at an advert for laxatives, his target wasn’t going anywhere.

Angelica Savage wasn’t just a unique cook. Nor was she simply an accomplished homemaker. One look at her credit card statements revealed that she was also a formidable shopper. She kept them in a shoebox at the back of her walk-in wardrobe, which also contained the reason why she had racked up so much debt.

When it came to fashion, Angelica was bleeding edge. Her style was simple and elegant, but it came at a sky-high price. She would shop in boutiques where the staff dropped everything knowing what she could spend. Sometimes she went directly to the internationally admired dress designer, Gerado Figari. It was an association that would later come close to ruining the man’s reputation, of course. Back then, whenever his mobile rang and her name appeared on the screen, he would always be quick to pick up. His dresses from across the seasons hung from every rail in Angelica’s wardrobe, alongside more casual clothes for the home that still cost a small fortune. It would be easy to look back and link her need for shopping to the family’s hidden secret. Certainly many criminal psychologists have stepped forward to say that her consumer habit on the high street served as some kind of escape for the woman. A chance to momentarily forget about the horror that took place inside the house. This, they argued, explained how she managed to spend way beyond her means, and took to hiding the true nature of her debt from the rest of the family.

‘Is this the bathroom?’

The voice took Angelica by surprise. With a gasp, she hurried to replace the lid on the shoebox. Then she twisted around to see Grandpa standing behind her. He was wearing a vest and drawstring trousers. For one horrible moment, it looked as if he was about to unbutton himself.

‘No it isn’t,’ she said, rising to her feet. She sounded cornered, perplexed and a little cross. ‘It’s my wardrobe, Oleg. The bathroom is across the hall. You know that, don’t you?’

Grandpa looked even more bemused than Angelica. He took a moment to consider what she’d said, before his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

‘Oh, of course! So it is. I’m sorry.’

As he spoke, Angelica’s expression shifted from surprise to concern. For decades, Oleg had shown no sign that age was getting the better of him. His wrinkles may have deepened, but this was the first occasion that his mind had let him down. Seeing him like this, as she recovered her composure, just served to make her aware that he wasn’t going to live forever. It didn’t matter how often Titus joked that Oleg’s diet made him immortal, one day nature would take her course. However you conducted yourself through life, whatever path you chose, everyone died in time.

‘You’ve had a senior moment,’ she told him gently, before encouraging him to turn and leave the bedroom.

‘Have I?’ Oleg looked like he had completely forgotten what just happened. Angelica placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She could feel his bones and joints at work, as fragile as if fashioned from balsa wood. At the same time, she hoped he wouldn’t go wandering downstairs on Saturday in a similar state of undress.

‘We have another shoot at the weekend,’ she told him. ‘It’s important that we stay out of sight and let them do their job.’

‘So the kids told me,’ he said. ‘But I would’ve figured it out for myself on account of all the cleaning you’ve been doing.’

Angelica smiled to herself. It was good to know that Oleg was a long way from living in a complete fog of bemusement. The fact was she had spent much of the day making sure the house was prepared. She had scrubbed and disinfected, dusted and polished and vacuumed every last inch.

‘It has to be done,’ she said, as he followed her out onto the landing. ‘Titus insists.’

‘You should just let him pay off your credit card,’ said Oleg.

And reveal just how much debt I’m in? Angelica thought to herself. He’d slay me.

‘Titus has his own concerns,’ she said instead, and directed OIeg to the bathroom in case he had forgotten.

‘Titus should relax about Sasha,’ he said. ‘At the moment he’s just driving her into the arms of this boy.’

Oleg stopped and looked around at his daughter-in-law. Angelica had been referring to the fact that Titus was preoccupied with work. Even so, Oleg had a point. The last time Titus tried to address the situation with his eldest daughter, Sasha had left the table early.

‘Did she tell you that he’s invited her over for supper?’ she said. ‘A vegetarian meal.’

‘So, it’ll give her wind all evening. Is that the worst thing that can happen? Let the girl learn from the experience.’

Grandpa shuffled into the bathroom. As he turned to close the door, he found Angelica looking at him thoughtfully.

‘Titus is just scared that his little girl is growing up.’ She gestured at the window overlooking the park and the city beyond. ‘It’s a big bad world out there.’

‘Sometimes it feels as if I can’t breathe at home,’ complained Sasha later that day. She looked at the ground, which was some way down, and shook her head. ‘My dad is such an asshole. Who put him in charge of all the oxygen, eh?’

Sasha Savage was sitting alongside her two closest friends on the back of a ramp at the skate park. Sasha, Maisy and Faria came out here at lunch breaks just to get away from it all. The canteen was always packed with Years 7 and 8. Even if the girls were starving hungry, the shrieking and the smell of egg, farts and crisps was enough to persuade them to find some space. It meant Faria could light up while Sasha could air her problems.

‘What’s he done now?’ asked Maisy, a pretty, cheery girl whose manner served her well in her Saturday job as a waitress.

Sasha looked across at her. At that hour, the sun was at its brightest. She shielded her eyes with her hand before answering.

‘It’s Jack,’ she said. ‘Dad hates him.’

‘How can anyone hate Jack?’ asked Maisy. ‘He drives his own car and everything.’

‘Anyway, why is your old man so upset?’ This was Faria, whose gaze was locked on the school buildings as she pulled on the cigarette hidden in the palm of her hand.

‘It’s his new default position.’ Sasha checked her bag to see if she had packed her sunglasses. She sighed to herself, but not just because she had forgotten. ‘They haven’t even met.’

‘Typical,’ said Maisy. ‘Bloody dads!’

‘Jack’s cooking for me this weekend. All properly romantic and everything. His parents are out, so it’s a really good chance for us to get to know each other, only Dad has decided that I’d be placing my life in danger by dining alone with him.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Faria. ‘It’s not like Jack’s going to feast on your liver and spleen.’

Sasha returned her attention to the ground, quietly wishing she had some shades to hide behind. Behind them, a couple of lads who’d left school the year before were slamming from one side of the ramp to the other on skateboards. One worked evenings at the Cheepie Chicken takeaway. The other had been rejected by the army. None of the girls paid them any attention whatsoever.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ asked Maisy.

‘I wouldn’t want to let Jack down this soon in your relationship,’ warned Faria, before sucking on the cigarette like an asthmatic with an inhaler in the midst of an attack. ‘There are girls out there who would literally kill for a piece of him,’ she finished, on exhaling. ‘Let’s just say that if you fail to make it to his supper at the weekend I don’t suppose he’ll be dining alone.’ Faria took another hit on her hidden cigarette, seemingly unaware that Sasha was looking at her incredulously.

‘Jack wouldn’t cheat on me,’ she said eventually. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

In her teens, Lulabelle Hart had crossed catwalks from London to Milan. Her height, frame and freckles were perfectly suited for modelling, as was her tumbling red hair that she had learned to flick over her shoulder just as the camera shutter opened. For several years, Lulabelle lived a lifestyle that many would envy. Then the next generation of girls began to attract the attention of designers and magazine editors, and slowly the work took a slide. Now in her mid-twenties, Lulabelle’s last fashion shoot featured clothes most people had since passed on to the charity shop. Still, her agent continued to find her work, and though she no longer graced front covers you could still find her advertising sofas and conservatories in the back pages. Sadly, Lulabelle’s A-list days were long gone. What remained was her attitude.

‘Explain this to me,’ she said, having just swept into the Savage house on the morning of the shoot. She was standing in the front room, where a crew worked hard to set up lights and cameras. The shoot, an advert for a plug-in air freshener, required Lulabelle to play the role of a beautiful but harassed mother who finds escape in the synthetic aroma of a tropical seashore. Lately, Lulabelle had played a lot of beautiful but harassed mothers. Given her dislike of other people’s children touching surfaces and door handles, she found it all too depressing for words. ‘What is that?’

‘What is what?’ asked the production manager, a young woman with a clipboard and earpiece. She turned to see what Lulabelle was looking at. ‘It’s a mirror,’ she said, and stood beside the model to admire the framed vintage glass that hung above the fireplace. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? A work of art.’

Lulabelle leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

‘But it’s mottled and blotchy.’

‘It’s antique. That’s what happens. The silver backing peels away from the glass over time.’

Puzzled by this, Lulabelle turned to address the production manager directly.

‘What’s the point of a mirror when you can’t see your own reflection?’

On an empty stomach, Lulabelle Hart could be somewhat fractious. Given her dietary habits, it was a mood that often lasted for much of the day. That morning, fuelled by a second glass of warm water (and a grape she had plucked from the fruit bowl in a moment of temptation) her performance was professional but underscored by a very short temper indeed.

‘Yes, we can try the lighting in a different way,’ she replied to the shoot’s director, a diplomatic and gifted helmsman who was simply trying to get the best from his cast. ‘Although I had expected to be working with a crew who could get that right first time.’

To be fair to Lulabelle, she could pose as well as she could swagger and strut. She just pushed the boundaries when it came to being civil. Approaching lunchtime, the poor props guy had been forced to empty the air freshener and fill it with a sample from Lulabelle’s perfume atomiser, before she ‘blew chunks into the camera lens’.

‘OK, let’s break for lunch,’ announced the director, sensing that he might need to turn down the emotional temperature. ‘Thirty minutes, everybody!’

While the cast and crew worked on the shoot in the front room, the catering manager had been busy in the kitchen. When everyone filed through, they found a buffet on the table with dishes appealing to every taste. Lulabelle wasn’t the first in line. The transport guys got in before her, but she was close behind. Without word, she began to fill her paper plate until there was no room for anything else. She went for the lime shrimp tacos, the fettuccine with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes, a slice of courgette and goat’s cheese tart, a wedge from the pistachio and pork pie, several scoops of beetroot and couscous salad, two bread rolls, four individually wrapped, reduced-fat butter pats and three super-chocolate cupcakes. Nobody liked to comment, of course. Everyone was hungry after such an early start. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed when Lulabelle took herself to a chair overlooking the garden that her lunch was less of a snack and more of a banquet. It took her the full half-hour to clear the plate. This was partly down to the fact that she spent much of it on a call to her agent.

‘The catwalk work,’ she was heard to say, still chewing on a Thai fried rice ball. ‘It’s why I signed with you… yes, I realise my career has matured, but there has to be more on offer than… well, this.’

As a result of the exchange, most of the crew returned to work fully expecting Lulabelle to be difficult, abrupt and even outright rude. Instead, she performed three further set-ups without complaint. She was also witty and even motivational with the child actress when the afternoon lull set in. On the last take, following a nod from the marketing lady sitting quietly in the corner, the director began a round of applause directed at Lulabelle.

‘You were brilliant,’ he told her. ‘The product will fly.’

With only some close ups of the air freshener left to shoot, Lulabelle asked politely if she could now leave the set. The make-up artist offered to cleanse her face, but by all accounts she was in too much of a hurry. She seemed happy, they said, if a little troubled, like someone who was questioning whether they had left the iron on before setting out for work that day.

Having thanked every crew member, Lulabelle collected her coat and left the front room. She closed the door behind her, but instead of leaving the house she headed straight for the toilet at the far end of the hallway. As she reached for the handle, the sound of the bolt withdrawing on the inside caused her to take a step back. Then the door opened outwards and the lighting man appeared. He seemed surprised to find anyone waiting, and hurried away without making eye contact. Unconcerned, Lulabelle took his place in the toilet, only to come right out again with her face pinched in an expression of utter disgust. Good grief, what had he been eating? There was no way she could bear to go in there for at least ten minutes. The way she felt just then, that was ten minutes too long. Which was what persuaded her to take to the stairs and find another bathroom.

Vernon English had a habit of nodding off during long surveillance operations. It had happened on several occasions during his time as a serving police officer, and certainly contributed to the suggestion that he retire early or face dismissal. As a private investigator, it still wasn’t a quality that served him well, but sometimes his tired old body just called the shots.

As he surfaced from a snooze that afternoon, slouched inside his scuffed white van, Vernon realised that someone had just left the Savage residence. It was the sound of the front door shutting that had woken him. He sat up in his seat, straining to see who it was. He had parked up on the opposite side of the street, some way down from the house. When he saw the daughter emerge on to the pavement, he relaxed visibly. Vernon wasn’t here to stake out the wife and kids. Titus Savage was his only figure of interest, and already he had revealed himself to have a sinister side. Photographs Vernon had taken of Titus talking to the man in the back alley revealed a great deal. It turned out that the guy was a mole, an employee of the company Titus was circling. For the time being, Vernon had decided to keep this information to himself. It was just a question of gathering enough evidence so he could truly skewer the predator before he pounced.

‘Eyes down,’ he muttered to himself as Sasha crossed the street in front of him, before tipping his cap low over his brow. ‘That’s it, Miss Savage. Walk on by.’

As soon as he heard her pass the van, Vernon opened his eyes and watched her heading down the street. She looked all dressed up, clearly going places. Just then, being a teenager seemed a very long time ago to the private investigator. He didn’t want to think about all the screw-ups and the disappointments that littered the landscape of his life from back then until now. Vernon glanced at the time on the dashboard and cursed. He had been asleep for hours. Anything could’ve happened. Fortunately for him, Titus Savage’s black 4x4 was still parked in on the drive in front of the house. In all likelihood, the man would be quietly holed up in his study waiting for the commercial shoot crew to pack up and go home. Vernon shifted his buttocks on the seat. It was a relief that he hadn’t missed anything. He just hoped that situation would change some time soon.

One by one, the Savages gathered around the body of the model with her head in the toilet bowl. Titus stood with both hands clasped behind him. He was staring at the penetrating wound to the back of her head. The one that had turned the water claret. Grandpa stroked and scratched at his beard, rubbing his gums together at the same time. Angelica stood beside him with the baby on her hip. She closed her eyes and sighed, as if they were simply dealing with a blockage here. Katya was toying with a dummy in her mouth. She didn’t look at all concerned by the discovery of a corpse in the house.

‘It was an accident,’ said Ivan uncomfortably, loitering by the sink.

Titus turned his attention to the iron. It was still strung up to the light fitting by the flex, twisting gently behind the body of Lulabelle Hart.

‘An accident,’ he said quietly. ‘Right.’

‘OK, well, it wasn’t aimed at her,’ Ivan bowed his head. ‘It was a prank meant for Sasha.’

‘A joke?’ Angelica struggled to stay calm. ‘Ivan, you could’ve killed your sister.’

‘I assumed she’d see it coming and catch it!’ Ivan protested. ‘In the nose or her forehead,’ he added as if to clarify. ‘Nobody warned me someone else would come in here and then kneel in front of the bowl.’

As a defence, even Ivan could tell it wasn’t washing.

‘It’s clear you’ve been creative,’ said his mother, searching for some way for him to accept responsibility for what had happened here. ‘But there’s a difference between being creative and, well, lethal.’

‘So, blame Jack!’ he replied hotly. ‘If he hadn’t asked Sasha round this wouldn’t have happened!’

‘Darling, you’re missing the point.’ Angelica shifted Katya into her other arm. ‘There’s a dead model in our bathroom and the crew are still downstairs.’

‘So,’ said Grandpa, who continued to size up the corpse. ‘What shall we do?’

It was Titus who had found the body. Shortly after Sasha had popped in to say she was heading out, and promised not to let him down, he left the study to find Ivan outside the bathroom. The boy looked troubled, and reluctant to explain himself after Titus tested the door and discovered it to be locked from the inside. When Angelica, Kat and Grandpa joined them, Titus decided to force an entry. Nobody shrieked or screamed when he succeeded. Instead, the tragic scene that greeted the family was met by sighs and groans, before all eyes turned to Ivan.

‘Does this mean I’m grounded?’ he asked just then. ‘What am I looking at here? A week?’

Titus drew breath to suggest a lot longer when the sound of someone clearing their throat at the foot of the stairs caused them all to start.

‘Hello? Anyone there?’

‘Hi,’ said Angelica, as brightly as she could, while looking thoroughly panicked. ‘How can we help?’

‘Just to let you know that we’ve wrapped.’

‘Oh… oh, right!’ Gathering her wits, Angelica handed baby Kat to Titus and hurried out to the top of the stairs. ‘I hope everything went to plan.’

She found the shoot’s director looking up at her from the hallway.

‘It went better than expected,’ he said. ‘Our star did such a fine job that she’s already gone home. We’re just sweeping the place down to make sure we haven’t left anything behind.’

Angelica looked blankly at him for a moment. When she did register what that meant, she brightened visibly.

‘So, everything is back as you found it?’ she asked. ‘As per the terms of your contract with the agency?’

‘As good as new,’ he assured her. ‘You won’t know anyone’s been here.’

The body of Lulabelle Hart lay face up on the bathroom floor. The skin was beginning to take on a mottled texture, much like the mirror over the fireplace downstairs.

As soon as Grandpa and Titus had hauled her out of the pan, it was clear that she had died with a look of utter surprise on her face. As a mark of respect, and in case it upset the baby, Angelica kneeled beside the corpse and closed her eyelids. At least then it didn’t look as if the woman was expecting the roof to fall in on her.

‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’ Titus asked Ivan, who by now was looking very subdued. He spoke quietly, and not just because of the crew downstairs. In times of anger, Titus never yelled at anyone. Instead, with his eyes pinched at the corners, he would voice his true feelings in a whisper that sounded like a bellow just waiting to break out. ‘You can’t just go killing people without purpose. How have I raised a boy who thinks this is acceptable? You’ve let me down very badly here. I’m so disappointed in you.’

The boy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

‘We could always eat her,’ he suggested.

Titus closed his eyes for a moment more than a blink.

‘Ivan, we’ve no idea where she’s been.’

‘But we have to do something,’ he said.

Grandpa eased himself down to take a closer look.

‘It would be a shame to let her go to waste,’ he said, and gently grasped her bicep as if to evaluate the flesh. ‘At least that way we know there’ll be no evidence left.’

Titus glanced at his wife. Angelica looked down at the body, but Kat was back in her arms and wriggling to be set on the tiles.

‘Normally this takes planning,’ she said. ‘I’m all out of onions, for one thing.’

Joining Grandpa at ground level, Titus reached forward and grasped Lulabelle by the hinges of her jaw. Carefully, he opened her mouth to its full extent before running a finger along the inside of her upper teeth. He stared at the wall as he did so, concentrating hard.

‘Eating is out,’ he declared, and removed his finger. ‘The tooth enamel has been eroded back there. It’s caused over time by stomach acids coming back up through vomiting. Whatever caused this poor young lady’s problems, she’s not a healthy specimen now. We’d be faced with kidney damage, ulcers, even brittle bones.’

Clasping Titus by the shoulder for support, Grandpa rose to his feet.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said. ‘For her and for us.’

When Titus stood up, he found Angelica considering him.

‘You’ll have to drop her off,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

Titus had already sensed that this was coming. Even before his wife had made the suggestion, he just knew that his Saturday evening on the sofa would be ruined.

Thankfully for the Savages, Lulabelle Hart had been supple and forgiving when they came to fold her into the holdall. From experience, Titus knew that the muscles in a corpse slowly began to stiffen from around the three-hour mark. It took between twelve and twenty-four hours before the body became totally rigid for a while. So long as everything went to plan, as it had on previous occasions, he would be unpacking her with plenty of time to spare. Titus anticipated a little resistance, of course, but he really didn’t want to be breaking a sweat trying to straighten the model’s limbs before letting her go.

Even with rigor mortis in mind, Titus was in no hurry to reach the coast. Rushing always led to mistakes, which was something he had learned at a very early age. It was his late mother who taught him the importance of patience. We take our time in the kitchen and look at the results, she would say. It’s the same when it comes to covering our tracks.

On the way, Titus considered what to do with his son. Ivan was a complicated boy, but this incident in the bathroom was quite a wake-up call. A cry for help, in many ways, he thought to himself on reflection. It left Titus feeling guilty. As a father, had he let him down? Work took up so much of his time, especially lately with the big takeover he had lined up. Still, that was no excuse. If he’d spent the day with Ivan, instead of shutting himself away in his study, then he wouldn’t be driving into the night with a dead diva in the boot.

Ivan Savage had one big regret about the death of the model. Brooding in his bedroom several days later, he wished that he had rigged up a video camera alongside the iron that killed her. Yes, it had hit the wrong target, and he never meant to kill anyone, but surely his father would calm down if he saw what an effective job his son had made of the execution?

‘Upstairs is out of bounds,’ he grumbled to himself, while combing his hair in the mirror. ‘If you come upstairs, you don’t go down again.’

What really hurt, though, the thing that really cut and stung, was his father’s reaction. Even before he spelled out his disappointment in the boy, Ivan had seen it in his eyes. There was no hint of pride at a clean and imaginative kill. It was all ‘you foolish this’ and ‘stupid that’. He had never felt so small and insignificant in his life. Nor as misunderstood. Yes, his father had cooled down on his return from the drop off, but it was hard for the boy to simply brush off that kind of criticism.

All Ivan ever wanted was some recognition for his efforts. And yet where had his pranks got him? Psychiatric assessment with some picture cards of kids crying. Nobody laughed at his efforts. Not once had he been clapped on the back or talked about admiringly, and now this. A clean kill and yet all he’d earned for it was criticism.

There was only one person he blamed for the situation. Sasha’s boyfriend, Jack. Why? Because if he hadn’t cooked for Sasha that evening, and lured her from home, then she would’ve been on the receiving end of the iron, not Lulabelle. Of course, Ivan would’ve found himself in even more trouble had he slaughtered his sister, which came as some comfort. Nevertheless, he held the vegetarian accountable for the fact that he felt so worthless just then. It also left him all the more determined to prove himself to his dad.

The first thing to enter Ivan’s head left him staring at his reflection in the mirror. After a moment, he blinked and dismissed the idea out of hand. Depriving Sasha of a boyfriend wasn’t exactly going to help him regain some standing in the family. Jack’s fate lay in her hands, not his, he decided, before leaving all such thoughts behind to answer the front door.

As a private investigator, Vernon English mostly picked up a newspaper to hide behind. Reading them didn’t interest him much. He liked the TV at the end of a long day, and maybe some talk radio on long stake-outs in the van. On this occasion, sitting at the window of a café that smelled of bacon and bleach, he found himself paying more attention to a small article on the page he’d opened at random than to the figure in the steak house across the street.

‘Lulabelle Hart,’ he said to himself, on reading of her demise, and then set the paper down for a clear view of the man he was here to observe. ‘I wonder what tipped her over the edge?’

Vernon was well aware that the model’s last assignment had been at the Savage house. He had retrieved a copy of the call sheet from the bin outside. According to the report in the paper, her behaviour that day had been described by some crew members as ‘tense’ and then ‘erratic’. Sadly, nobody present on the shoot had realised quite what turmoil the poor soul was in. According to the police and a source from the coroner’s office, this was just a tragic event. Ms Hart’s death was not being treated as suspicious.

Having read the article twice, Vernon tightened his gaze on the diner opposite. Titus Savage was just finishing a business lunch. His companion, the mole from the company Titus planned to take over, was doing a lot of talking. This came as no surprise to Vernon, given that Titus had earlier handed him a small fold of cash under the table. The private investigator had been quick to snap a picture, but there was something more going on with Titus Savage, and he was determined to find out what. Take his disappearance on the drive out following the shoot. Vernon still bitterly regretted pulling in for a bite to eat, but just where had Titus been heading? There was no sign of his 4x4 in the airport car park, and Vernon didn’t need to look at a map to know that a turn off before the motorway would’ve taken him towards the coast. Was Lulabelle’s death connected to the Savage family in some way? Now he could take what he knew to the police, or he could find out for himself. The private investigator washed down the last of his coffee, including the dregs, before tearing the article from the newspaper. This was a case he could handle on his own, he decided. Because if he could prove there was a link then not only would it kill the takeover bid, but Vernon English would secure his reputation at last and the offers of work would come flooding in.

Watching Titus ask for the bill, he found himself looking at this case in a different light. Through Vernon’s eyes, the man had just become his meal ticket to success.

That evening, Oleg Fedor Savadski reached the foot of the stairs from the upper floor, and wondered where he was. He looked around, his dressing-gown sash hanging loose around his pyjamas.

‘Goddammit,’ he muttered to himself. ‘They must’ve moved the bathroom again.’

Oleg knew that his mind was beginning to falter. Little things in his daily life had become a test for him, such as the whereabouts of his spectacles or the name of the thing that hung from the ceiling which glowed when he hit the switch. Of course, he knew it was the light bulb. Like the location of the bathroom, it would quickly come back to him. Even so, as he shuffled along the landing, Oleg wished he could do something to restore his wits.

It was the sound of gunfire and explosions that prompted him to stop outside Ivan’s bedroom. Despite his forgetfulness, Oleg’s memory of the Siege was vivid. Just hearing the crackle of a weapon transported him to the ruins of Leningrad in a blink. Without knocking, he opened the door and looked in on his grandson. Ivan was sitting on the edge of his bed with a videogame controller in his hands. His eyes were locked on the screen across the room. It showed some frenzied military skirmish, and was the source of all the noise.

‘Hi, Grandpa,’ he said, without looking around. At the same time, he squeezed a trigger on the controller. The sound of bullets spitting from a clip filled the room for a moment. ‘Are you looking for the loo again?’

‘It can wait,’ said Grandpa, watching the action on the screen. ‘Good game?’

‘Great game,’ said Ivan, who had yet to blink. ‘I love this level. If I can take out every mercenary I’ll get a weapons upgrade and then I’m practically unbeatable.’

‘Can I play?’

Ivan hit the pause button. The noise gave way to silence. Ivan faced his grandfather, surprised by the request.

‘Really?’

‘Got to keep my reflexes sharp somehow.’ Oleg closed the door behind him. ‘Now make room for an old man and pass me the other controller.’

Angelica had never imagined that she would marry a man like Titus. As a young woman, she was fiercely independent, while Titus was clearly looking to settle down and start a family. What seduced Angelica was his sense of chivalry and sensitivity towards her. Looking back, it could be said that Titus waited for her to fall in love with him, before striking with his secret. By then, it was too late. Angelica was smitten. She would do anything for him, knowing that he would do likewise for her.

‘We are what we eat,’ he once told her. ‘That makes you and me so very special as a couple.’

With a baby on the way, while Titus forged his career in the city, Angelica quickly found her feet as a homemaker. She surprised herself at how much pride she took in making things look as perfect as possible. The house was run down when they bought it, which presented Angelica with a much-needed challenge.

Back then, the renovation, decoration and furnishing of each room served as a means for her to forget about the one aspect of their lives that should’ve disgusted her. Having found a way to cope with the horror, Angelica even discovered that she enjoyed the preparation and consumption of human flesh, as well as all the cuts that your average cannibal might discard. It was a waste, they both agreed, and a lost opportunity. Through their eyes, the carcass of a once healthy human being was a banquet waiting to happen. Drawing upon the skills handed down to Titus by his father, she learned to extract the thymus gland from the chest cavity, just below the neck. Raw, it was just a spongy lump. Soaked in vinegar and then flash fried, it became the most glorious of sweetmeats, and the perfect appetiser before the serious business of eating began. And unlike any other food she had tasted in her life, Angelica found that often it was perfectly possible to finish off an entire body between two. At times, in fact, the feasting could transform into a frenzy. It would begin soon after the starters, with the central dishes stuffed away at an unnatural rate, before things finally slowed with dessert, when a profound sense of peace and satisfaction set in.

‘It’s like a drug,’ Titus once explained. ‘If everyone knew that feasting on human flesh sent such signals to the brain, we would eat ourselves out of existence!’

It took a decade of married life for Angelica to come to terms with what she had become. In that time, she tried to reason with herself that it wasn’t something they did frequently. It was Titus who decided when the time felt right, and that amounted to no more than half a dozen times a year. They weren’t like addicts or anything. Everything was under control.

Everything, that was, except for Angelica’s other consumer habit. At times of self-loathing, she would hit the high street with her credit card. As well as her passion for fashion, she continued to style and dress the house. In her mind, the creation of the perfect family living environment helped to hide the truth about what really bonded them. As for concealing her debts, the situation was fine until the credit crunch. With interest rates rising, Angelica could no longer afford the repayments from the joint account without arousing the suspicions of her husband. It left her with no choice. Following a showdown with Titus, whose offer to write off the debt she refused, Angelica proposed a repayment plan that left him speechless.

‘It’s time the house paid for itself,’ she had told him. ‘I’ve already spoken to an agency.’

‘But this isn’t just any house,’ Titus had reminded her. ‘It’s the one place where we can be ourselves. The only time we invite strangers inside, they never leave.’

‘I need to do this,’ Angelica had insisted.

‘But what if someone finds evidence?’

‘They won’t,’ she had said, and patted his stomach fondly. ‘As you well know, my love.’

Now three years into the arrangement, the Savages had become used to occasionally having large numbers of media people occupy the ground floor. Angelica was happy, having taken responsibility for her spending, while the kids took great delight in spotting their home on billboards and in magazines. As much as he grumbled, she knew that even Titus had come to accept it. Angelica even suspected he got a kick out of the fact that the house was on show to the public, and yet in private hosted scenes that could attract attention for all the wrong reasons. She figured it gave him a sense of control, as it did for her. The incident with the model was regrettable, but Marsha from the agency had assured her that business would come back to the house in time. Angelica hadn’t liked the sound of this one bit. Her credit card debt repayment depended on the income it brought her. Then again, she couldn’t risk kicking up a fuss because that would just be heartless. A suicide is a tragedy at any time, Marsha had reminded Angelica over the phone later that week. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Apart from not stringing up a booby trap in our bathroom, Angelica had thought, but kept it to herself. Instead, all she could do was go into denial about the financial implications. She’d done it for years, after all. As for Ivan, he was doing his best to atone for his mistake. He hadn’t attempted a single joke that silenced the family, and was spending a great deal of time with his grandfather. It was good to see. He could learn a lot from Oleg, she decided, while Titus had talked of giving his son the chance to prepare the next feast. Combined with what he’d learned from the accident in the bathroom, Angelica hoped that Ivan would come out of this a stronger and more rounded young man. It made the debt issue just that little bit more bearable for her.

As for Sasha, this foolish adventure with fruit and vegetables that Jack had encouraged her to undertake couldn’t end soon enough. It had put Angelica in an awkward position. Keeping it a secret from Titus wasn’t something she found easy. Then again, she couldn’t afford for him to find out. Not now they were due to meet Sasha’s boyfriend for themselves. It was bad enough that he was a vegetarian. If Titus knew that he had invited their eldest daughter to cross over, even for a week let alone a month, he would skin the boy alive.

Jack Greenway had expected Sasha to greet him at the door, not the whole family. It was why he had dropped her a line, hoping she would answer alone so he could make a low-key entry. Instead, even her grandfather could be seen at the top of the stairs, peering down in his dressing gown.

‘Sorry,’ said Sasha, grimacing. ‘He probably doesn’t realise it’s untied.’

‘Now is not the time for apologies,’ said Titus, extending his hand from behind his daughter. ‘It’s great to put a face to the name.’

‘Likewise,’ said Jack, and did his best to match the strength of the handshake. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’

‘This is my wife, Angelica.’

‘Mrs Savage,’ said Jack, noting that her handshake was in complete contrast. It felt like he had just clasped a dead fish in his palm.

‘That’s my father upstairs,’ said Titus, before pushing his young son forward. ‘And here is Ivan.’

For a second, Jack’s smile faltered. Ivan, however, grinned at the sixth former who had tried to humiliate him earlier in the week.

‘So, this is your boyfriend?’ he said to Sasha. ‘You should invite him inside.’

‘Well, I would,’ said Sasha. ‘If everyone can stop being so nice and give him some space.’

‘Take Jack into the kitchen,’ said Titus, who continued to sound unnervingly welcoming. Angelica hadn’t seen him smiling this much since preparations for the last feast. She put this down to the business deal, and hoped that he and Jack would at least get along at some level.

Amanda Dias didn’t look like an impressive speaker. A first-year undergraduate, she was slight in build, with cropped, boyish hair and delicate features arranged around an apparently shy, skewed smile. What silenced her audience was her militant position on the subject of ethical eating, especially those who did not share her views.

‘The hunters,’ she said at one point, ‘should become the hunted.’

Amanda stood with her feet pointed inwards and the microphone clutched in both hands. She turned to address her audience as she spoke, leaving breathy silences between each statement she made.

‘Wow,’ whispered Jack, who had chosen a middle row alongside Sasha. There were in the university’s smaller auditorium, with tables arranged at the flanks offering everything from pamphlets to specialised snacks. ‘This is intense.’

Sasha had spent most of the time noting Amanda’s sense of style. Everything she wore was made from cruelty-free material such as hemp and waxed cotton, as she had mentioned at the beginning as if to establish her credentials. Her navy-blue dress with matching cream cuffs and collar made her look like someone who might’ve been accused of witchcraft centuries earlier and burned at the stake. This martyr look worked well, thought Sasha, while the bold nature of her talk was clearly making an impression. Sasha struggled to get comfortable on the wooden bench. The girl was too good to be true. Off stage, she decided, Amanda Dias was probably one of those people who jealously guarded her food in the fridge.

‘How much of this stuff do you think she got off the internet?’ she asked Jack, leaning across so as not to be overheard. ‘It’s her thesis, no?’

Jack shot Sasha a look that told her he didn’t share her outlook.

‘We live among murderers,’ Amanda continued. ‘We share our lives with them. They walk among us. Is this the mark of a civilised society? We must confront the flesh-eaters. Change their way of life, for the sake of our world… or stop them from causing further slaughter.’

Amanda was the third person to take to the stage that evening. Sasha had listened closely to the two speakers before her. One was from the university’s Animal Rights society, while the other had worked in a hospital canteen until his conversion to veganism, refusal to handle meat products, and subsequent sacking. Until Amanda took the microphone, Sasha had been quietly impressed. It all seemed so grown up, and far removed from sitting on the edge of the skate ramp at school. These were mature individuals with passionate, heartfelt beliefs. This may have been the last place Sasha expected to find herself, but in a way it was beginning to feel like a new kind of home. Having gone without meat for several days, it seemed to her like she had at least earned the credentials to sit here and listen. The Animal Rights speaker made some interesting points, and she admired the stand made by the chef, even if it was pretty clear some drinking issues had contributed to his dismissal. In Sasha’s opinion, it was only this militant chick who had failed to strike a chord.

‘Amanda,’ said one young man in the front row, when she invited questions from the audience. ‘Are you saying it’s OK to kill meat eaters?’

Amanda smiled sweetly, as if she’d just been asked where her dress came from.

‘I am simply sharing my thoughts, and hoping to… connect, influence, inform and engage.’

Jack turned and nodded his approval to Sasha. She waited for him to face the stage once more before shaking her head. It was a shame this girl had been invited to speak. The evening didn’t need this pretentious nonsense, from someone who looked incapable of killing an unwanted call let alone a human being. Worst of all, it appeared as if Jack was hanging on every word she uttered.

‘There’ll be a few minutes before the next talk,’ whispered Sasha, when Amanda finally finished to a flutter of applause. ‘I’ll get us something to eat.’

‘You do that,’ said Jack, who rose to his feet at the same time as Sasha. ‘Just make mine vegan.’

‘Really?’ Sasha glanced across at the podium, unsure if he had just said that very loudly so somebody else could hear him. Even Jack couldn’t resist a quick look, but Amanda was busy collecting her papers from the lectern.

‘This is it for me,’ he said, when Sasha returned her attention to him. ‘There’s no going back now. After listening to Amanda, it seems to me we need to stand up for what we believe in.’

Sasha furrowed her brow. From experience, he just didn’t look the sort.

‘Jack, you’d never take a life.’

He seemed to think about this for a moment, before looking a little embarrassed.

‘I tell you what I could murder, though,’ he said, gesturing at a table of food and drink. ‘A slice of that chestnut bake.’

Ivan Savage enjoyed a game of chess. What he loathed was losing. That wasn’t why he joined the school club. He was there to prove his sense of strategy and logic was close to perfection. On those occasions when his opponents began to tighten in on his queen, he would turn to rules of his own in a bid to avoid checkmate.

‘Prepare for a butt kicking,’ crowed Ali Kaar, leaning on his elbows as he studied the board. ‘Whenever you want to make your move, I’m ready!’

Ivan watched him closely. He didn’t once glance down to consider his position. He barely moved, in fact, but for a tensing in his jaw muscles as he ground his molars together.

‘I need to think about this,’ he said eventually.

‘Take your time.’ Ali pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. ‘I need a leak anyhow.’

They had been playing for several hours. Ivan had opted for an aggressive strategy, but that left him with only one back-up plan when Ali pulled several surprise moves. This took the form of a jug of water and two cups. Ivan always made sure that they were in easy reach before he sat down to play. Then it was his turn to go for something unexpected. This involved refilling his opponent’s cup on a regular basis, knowing that he would have to answer the call of nature eventually. As soon as Ali left the table for the toilet, Ivan popped open his schoolbag and carefully fished out a small wooden box. It contained a complete set of both black and white pieces, identical to those used by the school chess club, as well as a thin metal mesh glove. First making sure that everybody else was engrossed in their own games, Ivan slipped the glove on and then set about replacing his opponent’s pieces. He’d done this many times over, which meant he had easily completed the manoeuvre before Ali returned. Finally, when the boy dropped back into his seat, Ivan moved one of his pieces.

‘Your turn,’ he said, and grasped the corners of the table as if to brace himself for something.

Ali studied the pieces for a moment.

‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘You’ve left yourself wide open.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Ivan, who smiled to himself when Ali reached for the pawn he expected him to play. As soon as he grasped it, the boy’s face contorted in shock and pain.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ivan, as his opponent set the piece back down smartly and shook his hand. A smattering of blood spots hit Ivan’s shirt, but he didn’t mind one bit. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Splinter, I think!’ Ali examined his finger, where a bead of blood was growing. ‘Man, that’s really painful.’

‘Unlucky,’ said Ivan, who gestured at the table. ‘Feel free to try again.

For the next few minutes, poor Ali Kaar suffered one assault to his fingers after another as he attempted to make each move. Even when he switched strategies, every time he touched a chess piece it left him gasping. Eventually, with tears streaking his cheeks and his hand shrouded in a bloodstained handkerchief, Ali conceded defeat in order to seek medical help from the school nurse.

‘You win,’ he sniffed, clutching his hand to his chest. ‘I never want to play you again!’

‘They all say that,’ said Ivan under his breath, and quietly reached for the glove so that he could return the pieces to the box.

Sasha Savage had returned from school feeling ravenous.

It was a feeling she had become used to in recent weeks. Being vegetarian wasn’t easy. Sacrifices had to be made. Not only did she have to plan each meal, and carefully keep it from her father, she found that she needed to eat little and often to make it through each day. And yet despite it all, as the end of her month without meat approached, Sasha was feeling good about herself. Better than ever, in fact. She could see it in her skin, just as Jack had promised. It was supple and elastic, while her eyes were clear and sparkling. What’s more, as she hung her coat up in the hallway, she found that she had actually developed a taste for a meat-free diet.

‘Hello?’ she called up the stairs. ‘Is anyone home?’

She waited for a response for a moment, and then smiled to herself. Without a doubt, her grandfather would be in his bedroom, but the house was as good as empty. Not only was he hard of hearing, he hadn’t ventured downstairs in an age.

It meant Sasha was free to head for the kitchen and fix herself a tasty snack.

‘Let’s see,’ she said to herself, crouching in front of the fridge, and began to extract items one by one. ‘Tofu is good, cucumber, some mint, yoghurt and a pita pouch.’

The tofu block and the pita came from the lowest shelf, hidden at the back behind a ham. It was her mother who placed it all there for her. She had been so kind and understanding about everything. Sasha knew she disapproved, but that hadn’t stopped her from helping her daughter keep her food choices a secret from Titus. Laying a chopping board on the surface, Sasha found a knife and pierced the pita bread. Carefully, she drew the blade down, opening up the pouch. It reminded her of those times her father had asked her to help in getting ready for a feast. Over the years, with a corpse laid out on the kitchen table, she had learned to extract everything from top to toe and prepare it accordingly. Using her fingers, Sasha eased the pocket open, just as she would as if preparing to stuff a neck cutlet with herbs, butter and garlic. She had just reached for a teaspoon for the hummus when a shriek from close behind caused her to drop it to the floor.

‘What the… Katya!’ Her younger sister was sitting at the doorway. She gurgled happily, before crawling across the kitchen to greet her. ‘You startled me,’ said Sasha, and plucked her from the floor. ‘What are you doing here on your own? Anything could’ve happened to you! Are you OK?’

‘Mince!’

The toddler responded by reaching out for the tofu. Sasha turned, but was too late to stop Kat from grabbing it.

‘That’s not mince,’ chuckled Sasha, and leaned away to avoid getting smeared. Katya waved the block in the air, before taking a bite from the corner. ‘I’m not sure you’ll like that… oh! So, you do like that!’

Turning to more important matters, she carried her little sister into the hallway and called out for her grandfather one more time. Again, Sasha received no answer, but this time she took to the staircase. With nobody on the first floor, she continued around to the second flight. Music floated down from the room at the top. It was a mournful orchestral, most likely Russian, which she knew reminded him of many things. Sure enough, she found him under the skylight, facing a black and white photograph of old Leningrad, with his head tipped back as he quietly conducted to himself.

‘Grandpa,’ she said softly, so as not to take him by surprise. When that failed to work, she crossed the room to turn the volume down. As soon as she did so, he dropped his arms and opened his eyes. Sasha tried to look calm and collected for him. ‘Grandpa, is Katya supposed to be in your care?’

‘Of course, he said, smiling at his youngest grandchild. ‘We were just enjoying some music together.’

‘She was downstairs,’ said Sasha cautiously. ‘She must’ve got there all on her own.’

At first, Oleg seemed not to hear her. He stroked Kat’s cheek, and watched her gnawing on something in her hand.

‘So, maybe she was hungry,’ he said eventually. ‘Sure looks like she can prepare herself a snack.’

‘I gave it to her,’ said Sasha. ‘Grandpa, she’s too young to be left alone on the stairs. Anything could’ve happened!’

This time, after a moment to register what she’d just told him, Oleg bowed his head and nodded.

‘I didn’t hear her go,’ he said, toying with his beard. ‘Your mother asked me to watch her for an hour. Maybe that isn’t such a good idea any more.’

Sasha placed her free hand on his shoulder.

‘Kat didn’t come to any harm,’ she said. ‘She’s happy now.’

Oleg glanced up. As he did so, the toddler waved what was left of the tofu block at him.

‘What is that?’ he asked, and took it from her. ‘Should she be eating this? Should anyone?’

‘Let me get rid of that for you,’ Sasha said hurriedly, and reached out to take it from him.

Oleg responded by drawing his hand from her reach. He held it close to his nose, before taking a very slight nibble.

‘It’s a bean curd,’ he said, grimacing slightly. ‘A meat substitute.’

A sense of unease began to rise in Sasha. She looked at Katya, as if hoping the toddler might provide her with an explanation, and then back at her grandfather. He didn’t look upset, however. Just puzzled and even curious. All manner of excuses jumped into Sasha’s head, but somehow nothing seemed to fit. It just felt wrong to lie to a man of his years. She only had to look in his eyes to know that he was awaiting the truth. With her heart stirring, Sasha took a breath and heard her own voice break the silence.

‘I like the taste,’ she said. ‘Actually, I like it a lot.’

Earlier, while waiting for the boy to leave the school grounds, Vernon English had bought himself lunch. Parked in the high street, he’d been spoiled for choice. A club sandwich had been tempting, along with a flapjack and a bottle of real lemonade, but with a long afternoon ahead he’d opted for something more filling.

The steak and ale pasty had just come out of the oven. There was no way Vernon could’ve eaten the thing until it cooled considerably, and so he had placed it on the passenger seat. The van had quickly filled with an aroma that made his mouth water. He reached for the wrapper a couple of times, only to pull away on feeling the volcanic heat through his fingertips.

‘I wanted something to eat,’ he grumbled at one point. ‘Not a sample of the earth’s core.’

By the time the private investigator sighted Ivan, and started the engine to trail him, his pasty remained untouched. His plan was to stay with the boy just to see where it led him. If the Savage children were involved in the death of the model, he had decided, then surely they would be struggling. Their parents might’ve been able to play things coolly, as if nothing had happened, but it was different for kids. At that age, you’d have to tell someone. You just couldn’t live without that kind of thing in your head. It would spill out at some point. Vernon felt pretty confident as he pulled out after Ivan. The kid was the key to all this, he felt sure. He had been in the house on the day of the shoot, unlike his older sister, which made him Vernon’s primary person of interest.

Jack Greenway pulled up outside the Savage house. The engine cut out automatically. Ivan looked across at him, releasing his seatbelt at the same time.

‘So, you’re not going back to finish your pizza?’

‘Eh?’ Jack looked at him with one hand on the wheel still. Then he realised why the boy thought he hadn’t just pulled up to drop him off. ‘The car is still running,’ he told him. ‘It’s just being fuel efficient.’

‘Right,’ said Ivan, with complete disinterest. ‘Anyway, thanks for the ride.’

‘Is your sister home, do you think?’

Jack’s question caused Ivan to pause as he opened the passenger door.

‘Most likely.’

‘Then maybe I’ll come in with you,’ he said, and unplugged the car key. As much as he wanted to rush back to the pizza restaurant, Jack needed to check that Ivan wasn’t going to break their deal and tell Sasha about the young woman he hoped would still be waiting for him. ‘After what we’ve been through,’ he told the boy, ‘I could use a cup of that nice tea you made just to calm my nerves.’

The pair had driven around town for twenty minutes after losing their tail. Jack wanted to be absolutely sure they were no longer being followed. After a short time, turning at random at junctions and roundabouts, he had even questioned whether they were being followed at all. What would anyone want with a kid like Ivan? Even a creepy weirdo would find the boy unsettling, no matter what his intentions.

‘It doesn’t look like Mum and Dad are in,’ said Ivan, gesturing at the empty driveway.

Jack wasn’t disappointed to hear this. He found both Mr and Mrs Savage somewhat intense. That evening he had come round to collect Sasha, he discovered that every time he glanced at one of them they were already looking at him.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said all the same. ‘Your parents are sweet.’

Ivan glanced at Jack. He looked like he was going to say something, but then seemed to think better of it.

‘They look out for us,’ he said instead, and opened up the front door. ‘Are you sure you want the same tea as last time?’

‘Sure do.’ Jack followed him inside. ‘So, will you tell your parents about the van?’

‘Of course,’ said Ivan. ‘Whoever it is will be sorry. My dad will make sure of that.’

As the boy led the way through the hallway, voices could be heard from the kitchen. Jack recognised Sasha’s laugh, and a shriek from her younger sister. It was a surprise to find her grandfather in their company, looking like he’d travelled from the past to join them. Both he and Sasha were working on something at the kitchen counter. With their backs to the door, it was only Katya who registered that they were in company. She sat on the floor behind them, and gurgled as the two boys filed in.

‘Hey there,’ said Jack. ‘What’s cooking?’

‘What?’ Sasha spun around, followed by her grandfather. Seeing Ivan with him, they both spread their arms as if attempting to hide something behind them. ‘You startled us!’

‘Evidently,’ said Ivan, who calmly crossed the kitchen for a better look.

‘That’s close enough!’ cried Sasha. ‘Seriously, you don’t want to see this.’

Ivan stopped in his tracks. He tipped his head, straining to see what was on the counter.

‘Is this a feast?’ he asked, with just a glance over his shoulder at Jack.

‘Back off, my boy,’ his grandfather warned, jabbing a finger at the same time. ‘It isn’t what you think.’

Sasha stood with her eyes wide open. She glanced at Ivan, then Jack, before swinging round to the toddler on the floor.

‘Cheese!’ cried Kat. ‘Cheese!’

‘Did she say cheese?’ asked Ivan. ‘Mince is her only word.’

‘It’s a new one,’ said Sasha. ‘She’s expanded her vocabulary.’

‘Well, that’s great!’ declared Jack. ‘Good choice, Katya.’

‘Cheese!’

With everyone’s attention trained on the toddler, Sasha seized her moment. Without turning, and using one hand, she swept everything behind her into the waste disposal unit.

‘What is that?’ asked Ivan, who looked up smartly as Sasha hit the switch and the unit started grinding. ‘You’re hiding something. What is it?’

‘Cheese!’

This time, it was Oleg who attempted to regain control of the situation.

‘Kat just told you.’ Stepping forward, he looked his grandson in the eye. ‘It’s halloumi, to be precise. We were just about to grill some for a salad.’

‘With mint is good,’ suggested Jack, only to find himself ignored.

‘Halloumi,’ repeated Ivan, as if to be sure he’d heard it right. ‘And that is what?’

‘It’s quite salty,’ Jack persisted, hoping to be helpful. ‘Vegetarians love it, but it’s off the menu for me nowadays. I don’t do goat’s cheese or any other dairy product. It’s a vegan thing.’

Jack stopped there, anticipating some attention or even respect. Instead, Ivan continued to stare at the pair across the kitchen.

‘This salad,’ he said eventually. ‘Does it contain any meat? Some chicken, perhaps?’

Oleg held his gaze for a moment longer before shaking his head.

‘None at all,’ he said. ‘Sasha hasn’t eaten meat for the last month.’

‘You can thank me for that,’ said Jack, and touched his chest with one hand. ‘Didn’t I tell you there’d be no going back?’

‘Jack,’ said Sasha quietly, and flashed him a look of anger. ‘Not now.’

This wasn’t an expression he had seen in her before. There was something ferocious, even barbarian, behind her eyes. Jack’s first thought was that she couldn’t be serious.

‘That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend,’ he said. ‘Have some respect.’

In response, and without a blink, Sasha reached for the paring knife on the counter. Jack waited for her to go back to slicing the halloumi. Instead, and it took a second for him to comprehend this, she stepped right up to him. Even with the blade just resting casually at her side, Sasha looked completely different to him. She said nothing, didn’t even appear to be aware of what she was holding, and yet she possessed this purpose and intensity to her gaze that Jack didn’t like one bit.

All of a sudden, the girl he had regarded as a plaything and a project now faced him as a threat.

‘But you made it through the month,’ he insisted, hoping that by returning to the subject that started all this Sasha would come back to her senses. ‘You crossed over,’ he added, spreading his hands to reason with her. ‘Welcome to my world!’

‘No,’ said Ivan, in a way that drew Jack’s attention straight away. Despite the air of calm in his voice, the boy’s eyes were hardened just like Sasha’s, to the point where they looked like they could turn to flint. ‘Welcome to ours.’

The agency office was a far cry from the interiors they represented. On dropping in after lunch with her husband, Angelica Savage had found it cramped and over-furnished, but Marsha didn’t seem to mind. She was more concerned about the welfare of her client’s children following the tragedy that had occurred soon after the last shoot.

‘We’re working through it as a family,’ Angelica had assured her, before politely enquiring when the next booking might be. In private, things were getting desperate when it came to the interest on her credit card. It was the stress surrounding the death and disposal of the model that had driven her back to the shops. That’s how she had dealt with it, but now she was paying the price. Angelica badly needed the house to keep working for her in order to pay off the instalments. Not that she could admit that under such sensitive circumstances. Instead, by suggesting that Lulabelle wouldn’t wish the agency to be out of pocket for her actions, she had finally persuaded Marsha that it would be better for everyone if they hired out the ground floor sooner rather than later. ‘It’s what Lulabelle would’ve wanted,’ Angelica had finished, lowering her gaze respectfully when Marsha finally opened her bookings diary.

Ivan Savage had been waiting for his father to return home. As soon as he heard the door open, he raced to the bottom of the stairs.

‘Dad, there’s something you need to know!’

In response, Titus raised his palm and then signalled with a finger to the lips for his son to shut the hell up. Next he found his phone and quickly dashed out a message with his thumbs. As soon as he had finished, Titus showed Ivan the screen.

‘But it’s important,’ Ivan pleaded, only to fall quiet when his father glowered at him, and then follow sulkily in his footsteps as he hurried into the kitchen. There, Titus showed Angelica and Sasha the screen. Both looked up at him smartly, while Titus did his level best to signal that they should talk as normal. He then crouched before Oleg, whose eyesight wasn’t what it once was, and whispered in his ear.

‘So,’ Angelica began hesitantly. ‘How has your day been?’

‘Oh, you know,’ said Titus, who began to scour the kitchen for the listening device. ‘The same as ever. Nothing much to report.’ He paused to run his fingers under the cupboards. ‘How did you get on with the agency?’

Angelica took a moment to compose herself.

‘They’re as shaken up by the tragedy as all of us,’ she said. ‘How sad to think that poor woman was in our house all day. If only we’d known what despair she was in, we might’ve been able to help her.’

Sasha looked from her mother to her father, who continued to scour the kitchen.

‘If only,’ she echoed, simply to fill the silence, before glowering at her brother.

‘Anyway,’ said Angelica, keen to move off the subject before someone spoke out of turn. ‘The agency has booked the house for another shoot. We’ll have to make ourselves scarce in a few weeks from now.’

Titus rolled his eyes, and continued to sweep the room in search of the listening device. Ivan watched him run his hands around the rim of the French windows. It was then his sister crossed over to the cupboard alcove beside him. She did so with a purpose, as if something had sprung to mind that told Sasha exactly where she would find it. Titus stopped in his tracks and watched as she opened the little door. The space contained the gas meter. Sasha inspected it closely, looking underneath it and then at each side in turn. Finally, she stepped away, grinning victoriously at her family. Titus took one look for himself and headed directly for the knife drawer.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, and selected his favourite carving knife. ‘There’s something I need to grab for supper.’

Ivan looked delighted as his father marched from the kitchen. He followed close behind, despite Angelica’s hushed instruction to stay put. Titus wrenched open the front door. The light from outside immediately cast him in silhouette from behind, but for the glint of the blade in his grasp.

‘Do it, Dad!’ cried Ivan, who wasn’t quite sure what he intended, but found himself completely caught up in the moment. In the street, he heard an engine gun into life. Titus rushed for the road, with his son close behind. Ivan just caught sight of the van’s driver as he struggled to find first gear. The guy faced his father looking surprised and a little bit scared. Ivan just stopped in his tracks and pointed at the vehicle as it finally sped away

‘It’s him again,’ he declared. ‘He wants me.’

Titus turned to face his son. He looked different to Ivan just then. It was as if inner thunderclouds had gathered behind his eyes, which narrowed when he asked the boy to explain himself. As he did so, Angelica, Sasha and even Oleg had arrived at the front door. Angelica held Katya in her arms, but her attention was focused on Titus.

‘Come inside with the carving knife,’ she said calmly, and looked around to be sure that the neighbours weren’t watching.

Titus switched his attention to Sasha.

‘How did you know to look at the gas meter?’ he asked.

‘I remembered a man came to read it,’ she told him. ‘He said that Kat was cute.’

‘Cheese!’

Ivan was alone in taking great delight in the toddler’s sudden outburst. Titus looked pained, for a very different reason than Sasha, his wife and grandfather.

‘It seems Katya really is finding her voice,’ he said slowly.

‘Goodness knows where she got that from,’ said Angelica, whose smile for the child in her arms looked a little forced to Ivan. ‘Cheese and ham, darling. Say ham.’

Holding the carving knife loose against his leg, Titus made his way back to the house.

‘I believe this means it’s time we welcomed Katya into the family way,’ he said, stopping to pet the little girl. ‘Now that her teeth are through and she’s talking, she needs to know her roots. It’ll help her to recognise that we Savages stick together no matter what life throws at us.’

‘A feast,’ said Oleg, who clearly relished the word, much to Sasha’s discomfort.

Titus seemed not to notice. Instead, he drew his only son to his side, glanced down the road to be sure the van had gone, and then clapped him on the shoulder.

‘You’ll always be safe in my care,’ he said, before addressing his whole family. ‘And I think we all know who should be on the menu.’

Sometimes, Vernon English was thankful that he lived alone. His marriage had crashed long ago, but at least he was free to transform the lounge in his flat into an incident room without being made to take down all the photographs and notes he’d taped to the wall. This wasn’t something he’d done before, but the Savage case was beginning to consume him.

‘What am I missing?’ he asked himself, sitting back on his sofa with his feet on the coffee table. The wall opposite was plastered with long-range snaps of the family, including Oleg and Jack Greenway, as well as magazine adverts featuring Lulabelle Hart. He’d pencilled arrows between some pictures, and on others added colour-coded cards with his thoughts on them. Most made sense at the time. Looking at it all now, the private investigator could be sure of only one thing: he’d need a professional decorator to restore the room once he’d cracked this case.

Leaning forward, with his eyes locked on the wall, Vernon reached for the burrito in the box on the table. It had been cold for some time, but even though he’d been distracted he wasn’t going to give up on it. Chewing on his takeaway supper, the private investigator focused his attention on the section of the wall devoted to Titus Savage. The man was behind the death of the model, and he would not rest until he’d uncovered evidence to prove it.

At the same time, Vernon could not ignore the fact that he was a little jealous. Titus was a success in the City, where being ruthless was basically a virtue, while at home he showed a different side entirely and his family clearly adored him for it.

‘Some people have it all,’ he muttered, and eased himself to his feet. ‘Others make do with the leftovers.’

Taking himself to the window overlooking the pound shop on the high street with the sale on, Vernon pressed his forehead to the glass and sighed. He kept a handful of pictures in simple wooden frames on the ledge in front of him. All of them were taken during his marriage, from the honeymoon to the last Christmas they’d spent together. In each one, the face of his ex-wife had been carefully obliterated with marker pen. As far as he was concerned, she no longer existed. Even so, he wasn’t prepared to deny himself the fact that he had once shared his life with someone special. He picked up one of the frames and studied it. Had things worked out between them, he too could’ve been a loving father. Whatever Titus hid from the world, Vernon English could only begrudgingly admire his commitment in building a family and keeping it together.

‘What is your secret?’ Replacing the picture on the ledge, Vernon returned his attention to the wall. His eyes darted from one image to another, following pencil trails and then imagining fresh alternatives. Yet again, it just looked like a tangled mess. Vernon turned away, his thoughts switching to the possibility that there might be some hot sauce in the kitchen cupboard, and then came around full circle. ‘There it is,’ he said, and took a step back to gain some perspective. This time, he didn’t focus on individual surveillance shots or his scribbled hunches. He just stared at the little gap at the very heart of it all. All of a sudden, it looked like the eye of the storm. Vernon grabbed a pen from the top of the TV and scribbled one word in the space. He underlined it with a slash before standing back once again. Everything he had discovered about the family was tied to it in some way. What he’d missed until now was that it had to include the death of Lulabelle Hart.

‘Food,’ declared Vernon, reading it out loud as if that might help bring him clarity. It didn’t prove anything, but just then there was something in it that the private investigator pledged to pick apart. ‘Food is the key,’ he said with some confidence, and glanced at a shot of Titus once more, ‘or I’ll eat my words.’

As a hunter, Titus Savage had learned everything from his father. Over the decades, Oleg taught him how to trap his quarry and finish it off both quickly and humanely. From an early age, Titus learned that a noble cannibal showed respect towards a victim. You didn’t eat them alive. That kind of thing was the stuff of myth and legend. A modern-day flesh eater carried out careful preparations with a view to serving up a dish to die for.

When it came to the kill, Titus considered himself a natural. As a boy, he’d taken to the pursuit with a perfectionist’s eye. It was something he had begun to pass on to his own son. In fact, as the family made plans for Katya’s celebratory feast, he intended to stand back and let Ivan do the honours. In a way, Titus decided, it would allow him to close the book on the accidental death of the model in the bathroom.

Firstly, however, Titus had to identify the person they intended for the plate.

‘This man,’ he said to Ivan and Sasha at breakfast time that week. ‘Can you describe him to me?’

Sasha thought back to the time he had entered the house disguised as a meter reader from the gas board.

‘Middle-aged,’ she said. ‘Tired-looking with quite a heavy-set face.’

‘He reminded me of a bloodhound,’ added Ivan. ‘Also he was wearing a hat when I saw him. Not a flat cap. Something funkier. A funky bloodhound.’

Titus looked across at Angelica.

‘Sound familiar?’ he asked.

‘Nobody we know,’ she said. ‘So how do we find him?’

Titus was at the French windows. He turned his back on his family for a moment, half wondering whether he should head upstairs and consult his father. Back in the day, Oleg would leave the house at sundown and work under cover of darkness. In the morning, his wife would find a body laid out on the table, naked, washed and shaved from head to toe. Always the romantic, Oleg would pin a note to the chest of the corpse using the tip of a knife, dedicating the coming feast to her. Nowadays, of course, it simply wasn’t necessary to go stalking back alleys for the drunks and the dispossessed. With access to the internet, it was perfectly possible for Titus to source someone of better quality who met their requirements perfectly. In particular, the social networks provided Titus with everything he needed to know about their health, wellbeing and background. He could work out their movements and, of course, assess friendships. Anyone too popular was off the menu. You didn’t want their disappearance to spark headlines, campaigns and vigils, just an entry in the missing persons register that would gather dust over time.

‘There’s only one thing we know for sure about this guy,’ said Ivan, who drew his father’s attention once more. ‘He’s sexually attracted to me.’

Titus sighed to himself.

‘I suspect that I’m his main person of interest,’ he said, before addressing Angelica once more. ‘This is business, I think.’

‘But Ivan may be on to something,’ she said. ‘Even if this does have something to do with your work, the fact is he followed our son.’

‘Because he’s the weakest link,’ suggested Sasha, who promptly received a kick under the table from her brother.

‘At least someone fancies me,’ he fumed. ‘When was the last time you saw your boyfriend? Even I’ve heard it’s finished, and nobody speaks to me at school!’

‘Mum,’ complained Sasha. ‘Tell him to stick to shifting chess pieces.’

‘Face it,’ grinned Ivan. ‘He’s over you.’

‘Lacing Jack’s tea hardly helped,’ she snapped at him.

Ivan sat back in his chair, considering his sister.

‘But if he has dumped you,’ he said next with a sly glance at their father, ‘does that mean you’ll give up with the sausage dodging?’

‘Mum!’

This time, Angelica responded by glaring at her son so fiercely that he visibly shrank in his seat. She had already spoken to Ivan about staying out of Sasha’s personal issues, and made it quite clear that there would be consequences if he breathed a word to his father. Angelica glanced across at Titus, who continued to be the only family member who wasn’t wise to Sasha’s newfound vegetarianism. Much to her relief, he seemed so lost in thought that he clearly hadn’t heard a word. It was only when Titus noticed that everyone was looking at him that he blinked back into the room.

‘Our boy can be the bait,’ he said after a moment, and then nodded to himself as if he had just road-tested the idea to see how it sounded.

‘What?’ All of a sudden, Ivan didn’t look so confident.

‘Like a goat tethered to a stake,’ suggested Sasha, but their father was on a roll.

‘You don’t have to worry,’ he assured the boy. ‘When our man comes prowling, we’ll be waiting for him. And that’s when he’ll learn how it feels to be preyed upon.’

Angelica Savage began working on the menu with Katya in mind. This feast was in her honour, after all, and so it was important that the choices on offer appealed to her. Sasha found her mother at the kitchen table, with a notepad and pen in hand. She peered over her shoulder, reading the list with interest.

‘Liver pâté biscuit bites,’ she said hungrily. ‘Mum, don’t tempt me!’

Angelica looked round.

‘It would put an end to a lot of problems,’ she said. ‘At some point before this feast, we’re going to have to tell your father why you won’t be joining us.’

Sasha sighed and took the seat beside her. She placed her mobile phone on the table and set it to one side. Katya was in her high chair opposite. She was clutching a wooden spoon, which she dropped to reach across the table for her older sister’s hands.

‘I’ve tried to find the right moment,’ said Sasha, collecting the spoon from the floor, ‘but every time he’s been grumpy about work.’

‘No matter what you say he’ll go crazy,’ replied Angelica. ‘What’s important is that he doesn’t lose sight of the fact that you’re his daughter first and foremost, no matter what you choose to eat.’

Sasha watched her mother writing on the pad.

‘Honey-roast sticky ribs?’ Sasha grinned at Katya. ‘You’re going to love this, but it isn’t making it any easier for me.’

‘How about that thing I do with the loin?’ Angelica set down her pen. ‘The carpaccio?’

‘With plenty of basil and garlic?’ Sasha closed her eyes, as if the suggestion triggered memories of the taste. ‘Mum, you know how much I loved that when I was little!’

Angelica returned her attention to the list.

‘Maybe I should add it anyway,’ she said to herself, with just a glance back at her daughter. ‘Now, what would everyone else enjoy?’

For half an hour, both mother and daughter explored all the different dishes they could create from one human body. It was a time marked by a great deal of discussion and laughter, which came easily with little Katya sharing the table. Slowly, the list began to grow, as did a sense of warmth between the pair. It felt good to Sasha, just to be involved at this level, and she could see that Angelica felt the same way. When Sasha’s mobile rang, just as they were planning dessert, her first thought was to ignore it. Then she glanced at the caller name, and snatched it into her hands.

‘I need to go out,’ she said after a brief and hushed exchange. A hint of disappointment came into her mother’s expression. ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ Sasha added, before rushing from the room. ‘I promise!’

Sasha Savage paused outside the café. She was nervous about the conversation that was about to take place. It wasn’t something she had expected, but as soon as she heard his voice on the phone it felt like the right thing to do. Taking a breath, she pushed open the door. There he was, rising from the table on seeing her.

‘Hi,’ said Ralph, and gestured at the seat opposite. ‘What can I get you?’

Sasha lit up at the young man she had spoken to briefly at the university talk. He was as scruffy as she remembered, with a heartfelt smile and a crinkle beside each eye that told her how much he liked to laugh.

‘Whatever you’re having is good,’ she said. ‘So long as it isn’t vegan.’

Sasha had given Ralph her number during the interval. It had been good for her to meet someone who was also embarking on a trial without meat at the same time. Ralph shared the same hopes, doubts and weaknesses as she did, and so when he asked to keep in touch she didn’t look for an excuse. As he tapped the digits into his phone, he had jokingly promised not to stalk her. Sasha had been too shy to ask for his number in return. It didn’t seem right, given that she was supposedly with her boyfriend. It was only afterwards, on the drive home, that she began to hold out hope that he would call. Jack had just not stopped talking about Amanda. It wasn’t only her bonkers beliefs that he admired. He even praised her sense of style and the courage he felt it would’ve taken for her to stand up and share her views. Then, on dropping off Sasha at her house, he’d had the nerve to try it on with her again. Sasha had responded to his wandering hands by climbing out of the hybrid. That evening, she had gone to bed hoping Jack would wake up and realise how insensitive he’d been. Instead, he’d gone quiet on her. More immediately, to Sasha’s surprise, she found she wasn’t greatly upset about it.

Jack had opened her eyes to many things, and that included the growing realisation that she just wasn’t that into him. He’d certainly swept her off her feet in the beginning, and seduced her with his views on food, but beyond that he only seemed to be interested in bedding her. Sasha had been prepared to see how things panned out, to give him a chance to show he had a deeper side, but seeing him flounce from the house over the prank with the tea just convinced her it was over. She hadn’t felt too bad about it. That Jack hadn’t been in touch himself made her think the feeling was mutual.

‘Jack and I want different things,’ she told Ralph over coffee. ‘But I don’t have any regrets. They say you should always try something before you decide whether or not you like it.’

Ralph smiled, clasping his mug with both hands.

‘I didn’t know if I should call you,’ he said after a moment. ‘I hope it’s OK.’

Sasha was pleased that he had. Ralph really seemed like a genuine guy. At the same time, after everything that had happened with Jack, she realised just then that what she needed here was friendship. As someone else setting out on the same path as her, she could see in Ralph’s eyes that he felt the same way.

‘So, how are you getting on with the whole vegetarian thing?’

Ralph set his mug down on the table.

‘Well, it’s tough!’ he said. ‘I’m definitely a veggie at heart. I just can’t speak for my stomach sometimes.’

‘Any bacon moments?’

‘Oh, constantly.’

‘Me, too.’ Sasha grinned, her eyes locked on his. Ralph held her gaze with ease.

‘I need to tell you something,’ he said finally. ‘It’s confession time.’

‘Go on.’

Ralph toyed with the sugar sachet.

‘Once or twice over the last couple of days,’ he told her, ‘I’ve given in to temptation.’

‘No!’ Sasha pretended to look shocked, but laughed despite herself. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did the same thing.’

‘Really?’

Sasha considered what she had to say next.

OK, it’s my turn,’ she began. ‘Sometimes, I crave something so unspeakable I can’t even put it into words.’

‘More unspeakable than bacon?’

‘Oh, so unspeakable.’

‘Want to try me?’

‘No,’ said Sasha, ‘but it feels good just telling you that. Like a weight off my shoulders.’

Ralph held her gaze for a moment, and then chuckled.

‘So, why not give in to temptation?’ he suggested. ‘It won’t kill you.’

Sasha thought about this for a moment.

‘I suppose there are no rules to say that I can’t.’

‘Exactly,’ said Ralph. ‘All these people beating themselves up about not eating this or only eating that. I’m beginning to think sometimes it’s best to just go with what feels good.’

Finding herself nodding before he had even finished, Sasha smiled and wagged a finger at him playfully.

‘You’re a bad influence,’ she told him. ‘Just when I’ve been doing so well.’

‘Hey, don’t let me influence your eating habits.’ Ralph held up his hands, grinning still. ‘I’m not here to judge you.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Sasha. ‘And I’m not here to give you a hard time about bacon. A treat is good for the soul every now and then.’

‘So it is,’ said Ralph. ‘Especially on white bread with ketchup.’

‘We all have our favourites,’ agreed Sasha.

‘I’m glad I’m not alone.’

Sasha glanced at the table, as if summoning the courage to speak from the heart.

‘You’re not alone,’ she said quietly.

Ralph nodded, still playing with the sachet.

‘Likewise.’

For a second they said nothing. There was no need. The silence was only broken when Sasha’s mobile phone began to ring. She glanced at the name on the screen and immediately rejected the call.

‘That’s the first time Jack’s tried to reach me since he slammed our front door in my face,’ said Sasha. ‘I wonder what he wants now?’

‘You should speak to him.’

Sasha pocketed her phone.

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘It’s important that one of us does the right thing.’

Jack Greenway was not used to being ignored. Three times he had tried to reach Sasha by phone. On each occasion, it had rung off before her answer machine kicked in. Finally, he had texted her, a simple ‘WTF?’ but that too had failed to draw a response.

Jack also knew that he only had himself to blame. Ever since the thing with the tea and the knife, he’d done his level best to avoid Sasha. Amanda had become his top priority, but now there was a problem. In order to fulfil her fantasy, which he hoped would earn him a very special reward, he needed to get back into Sasha’s good books so as to gain access to her house. Finally, Jack went looking for her one lunch break. As he’d failed to show up with his Tupperware container at the skate ramp all week, he learned from Faria and Maisy that Sasha had gone to the nearby express supermarket to buy a sandwich. When Faria cheekily invited him to sit with them and share the box, it was clear he felt his efforts had gone to waste.

‘Another time,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It isn’t the same without Sasha.’

Later, after lessons had finished for the day, Jack was spotted in the sixth form car park. He was sitting in his hybrid, picking at the contents of his container with his fingers, clearly brooding. He was just dropping a pinch of bulgur wheat with pomegranate seeds into his mouth when a knock at the driver’s side window caused him to sprinkle it down his shirt.

‘Sasha!’ Hurriedly, Jack wound down the window. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

‘Is now good?’ she asked.

‘Perfect!’ said Jack, stowing the box and brushing himself down. ‘Where shall we go?’

Sasha looked at him uncomfortably.

‘I haven’t got long,’ she told him. ‘I promised Mum I’d be back to help out in the kitchen. We have a big meal planned for the weekend.’

‘Then let me drive you home,’ said Jack, thinking at the same time that this would be just the opportunity he needed to talk her into inviting him round.

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Sasha hesitantly. ‘There’s just something I need you to know.’

Jack pressed the ignition button.

‘Tell me on the way,’ he said, and gestured at the passenger seat. ‘In this car we’ll barely leave a carbon footprint.’

For Titus Savage, a feast was always preceded by a day of preparation. Like his father, he considered it to be a kind of ritual that involved the whole family. There were tasks for everyone. Throughout the next morning, Sasha helped her mother assemble the side dishes, while Titus visited the market for those last-minute items. In the afternoon, having set out the place mats at the table, he found the mahogany box that contained the special cutlery and took it upstairs to his father’s room. Oleg liked to play a part, and polishing the silverware was something he had done for decades.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ said Titus, as his father pushed his spectacles into place. He waited for the old man to find a cloth in his drawer before outlining what was on the menu. ‘We could’ve opted for something leaner, and less tearful about his lost opportunities in life,’ he pointed out, ‘but what else could I do?’

‘I hear that Ivan is in charge.’ Oleg shuffled across to the table under the skylight, where Titus had just placed the box. ‘I remember your first time as a little boy. It was a proud moment.’

The pair exchanged a smile.

‘Ivan tells me everything went to plan,’ said Titus. ‘He stayed up until the early hours to get the job done. He hasn’t even surfaced yet.’

Oleg picked a dessert spoon from the box.

‘I wonder if this is something Ivan will pass on to his children?’

‘Of course,’ said Titus without hesitation. ‘He’s a Savage. Tradition is in our blood.’

Oleg focused on polishing the spoon for a moment.

‘Will Sasha be joining us?’ he asked.

‘She’s in the kitchen with Angelica right now.’ Titus narrowed his eyes, unsure why he would even check his granddaughter would be present. ‘Is something troubling you?’

‘Me? No!’ Oleg rubbed the spoon handle vigorously. Then he stopped and sighed. ‘We’re all Savages, Titus. We always will be in name at least, no matter how many of us gather round the table in future.’

Titus looked baffled. He was standing over his father, who next selected a fork to polish.

‘Well, every one of us shall be eating this evening as we welcome little Kat to the fold,’ he said, and clapped Oleg on the shoulder as if that might reassure him. ‘You don’t need to worry about your grandchildren. It’s my duty to make sure they understand the importance of dining like this on a regular basis.’ Titus turned to leave the room. At the door, he stopped and addressed his father one more time. ‘You know, it’s true what they say that the family who eat together, stick together.’

‘Maybe not the family who eat people together,’ muttered Oleg.

‘I’m sorry?’

The old man looked up and around. He seemed startled to find Titus was still there.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he said quickly and held the fork up to the light.

Titus Savage sat in grave silence. Across the kitchen table, his wife and eldest daughter looked on uncomfortably. Only Katya remained her sunny self. At that moment, however, nobody paid her any attention.

‘Who is responsible for this?’ asked Titus eventually, his voice on the verge of cracking.

Angelica and Sasha exchanged a glance.

‘The boy I was seeing,’ said Sasha. ‘But it’s over now.’

‘I see.’ Titus furrowed his brow. ‘Couldn’t he have left you with something more traditional like a broken heart, maybe, or herpes?’

‘Titus!’ Angelica shot him a look. ‘Be civil. This isn’t easy for Sasha.’

‘It’s OK,’ Sasha cut in, and held her hands out to calm them both. ‘It was my decision to go vegetarian. Jack just introduced me to the idea, but this isn’t a question of who is to blame. It’s about understanding.’ She paused there and looked away for a moment. ‘Understanding and respect.’

‘What about respect for the family?’ Titus asked, and slammed his palm on the table. ‘You’re turning your back on a tradition that unites us in a shared secret. It grounds every one of us, so we can each make the most of our lives!’

‘And I’d still willingly take my place each time you sit down to feast,’ said Sasha. ‘I’ll just stick to the vegetables,’ she added quietly.

Titus scoffed dismissively.

‘My daughter, the grazer.’

‘There you go again,’ said Angelica with a sigh.

‘Belittling me won’t change my mind,’ said Sasha, in such a way that commanded her father’s attention. ‘This is who I am now, and I just feel better for it.’

Titus sat back in his chair, considering her.

‘What about the feast we had before Christmas two years ago?’ he asked. ‘You begged me to do the honours, and a very clean kill it was, too, but how does that sit with you, Sasha? Now that you’re better than us?’

‘Dad, I’m just trying to be true to myself. Isn’t that what you want for all your children?’

Just then, the back door crashed open. Nobody at the table looked around.

‘Help me out, Sasha,’ said Titus, sounding a little calmer. ‘I’m struggling here.’

It was Angelica who was first to look around as her son appeared before them. He looked wild-eyed and a little breathless.

‘Dad, I need your help.’

‘Not now.’ Titus kept his gaze locked on his eldest daughter.

‘But, Dad—’

‘I said not now!’

It was a sudden outburst, delivered with such force that everyone present shrank into themselves. The silence that followed was only broken when Katya started bawling.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ muttered Titus, and rose to collect her from the floor. ‘Go to your room, Ivan. And just stay out of trouble!’

‘I just really think you need to—’ Ivan stopped short as his father turned and glowered at him. ‘Fine, then!’ he grumbled before heading for the stairs. ‘Don’t blame me if dinner is ruined!’

Soothing Katya in his arms, Titus stood by the French windows, overlooking the garden and the shed at the back.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he told Sasha. ‘You need to think long and hard about what this means for your family.’

Sasha waited for her father to face her before she replied.

‘Would you say the same thing if I had just come out as gay?’

‘Is that your next bombshell?’ asked Titus, and turned to Angelica.

‘Just answer the question,’ she said, folding her arms.

With Katya calm, Titus set her back down on the floor. He crouched there for a moment, offering one of her plastic bricks to play with. Finally, when he was sure of his composure, and that his voice wouldn’t crack, he rose up once again.

‘Of course I wouldn’t say the same thing. That would be different.’

‘So, would you rather I’d stayed quiet about going veggie?’ said Sasha. ‘This last month has been really tough. If it wasn’t for Mum’s support, I’d never be here now, being open about who I am.’

‘A month?’ Titus looked in astonishment at his wife.

‘Sasha needed time to work things out.’

‘I’m still a Savage, Dad,’ she said. ‘The only difference now is that I’m really happy being me.’

By now, there was nothing Titus could do to stop a tear from tracking down his cheek.

‘Then I’m happy for you,’ said Titus, and wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. From across the table, Angelica mouthed the words ‘thank you’ at him. ‘It seems I have a lot to learn from this,’ he added. ‘Perhaps I should follow your example.’

‘By giving up meat?’ asked Sasha, her mouth falling open.

‘Don’t push it,’ said Titus, and recovered with a grin. ‘I mean by being honest with myself.’

Angelica was still watching her husband closely.

‘Is there something you want to tell us?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Titus, batting away the question. ‘I’m just feeling a little restless at work lately. Maybe I’ve been in the business for too long, but I’m starting to wonder if I should move on to new horizons. A challenge, perhaps.’

‘Like what?’ asked Angelica. ‘You’re a natural at what you do.’

‘I’ll think of something,’ said Titus, who turned just then to inspect the dishes on the counter behind him. ‘For now, whatever anyone chooses to pile on their plates, let’s focus on making this feast one of the best we’ve ever had!’

Vernon English was in a sorry state. He had lost just enough blood to bring him close to fainting, while his body, shaved and lightly tenderised by Ivan, made him look like a badly plucked chicken in a silver foil nappy. On top of everything, his escape bid had almost knocked him senseless.