CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Something’s going on,’ said El, raising herself on tiptoes to look through the narrow slit in the stone wall that gave them their only view of the world outside. She couldn’t see much, but she could sense movement and hear the urgency in the snatches of conversation blown to her on a thin, spiteful draught that numbed her face and ears.
Stephen pushed himself up from the straw pallet. Clutching a flea-ridden blanket riddled with holes around his shoulders, he came to stand behind her. El sank down off her toes so he could peer over her head. Feeling the faint warmth of his body behind her, she suddenly remembered Meg’s question: ‘Does that mean you’ll go out with Stephen now?’ An image of Greg flashed through El’s mind, instantly dismissed. She’d finished with the rat. But
