I'm stepping off the train when my phone rings. I might work in London, but I sure as hell can't afford to live there. My flat is nearly an hour away from the offices of Holden Investigations. I walk off the busy platform, packed with people getting on trains, and commuters heading to busy offices, whilst I'm just heading home, yawning widely. My head is full from this morning's chat with Lachlan's wife.
Lachlan's wife.
I find myself slipping between an exhausted tearfulness and a hollow numbness. Lachlan's wife wants me to investigate him. She wants me to find out if he'd been unfaithful. The world felt shifted. The ground was too unbalanced to walk on anymore. The whole thing had my stomach tightened into steel knots.
I slip my phone out of my pocket, exhaling when I see the name on the screen. I love this person, but I know why they're calling and I'm not sure I can deal with this conversation right now. But I answer anyway.
"Hey, Sophie."
I rush down the steps, out of the station and onto the busy street. Behind the collection of houses and shops, a tower block looms. My flat is nestled somewhere near the top.
"Anything?" Her voice is quiet, but booming in its desperation.
I bite my lip. Trying to focus on the street ahead and not on the question's implication. I can't stop myself, though. I look down at my right hand, see the dull purple of a stone in the ring I'd once given her. For her, its swirling violet power had changed everything. For me, it was just a ring.
"Nothing."
I hear her sigh and can picture the expression on her face. I want to comfort her, but my own pain is so raw and acute I can't form words around it.
"I'm sorry Lola. I don't know... I thought this would work. I was sure of it."
"I know. I know. You've done everything possible, Soph. I don't want you to feel guilty about this. Please don't."
"And the test results..."
"The same."
I cross the street, slipping between the cars stuck in traffic and then up the path darkened by the shadow of the tower. Awkwardly shifting the phone into my other hand whilst I scramble for my keys. Dripping spray paint covers the brick in colour. The metal door is dented and scuffed from where someone, drunk no doubt, has tried to kick it open. A couple of school kids slip out of the block entrance and I quickly slip through the door before it shuts.
"I knew it would be different. The Witch, you knew, she used Jinn magic. And I can't recreate that, even if I wanted to. But the magic I used... was the most powerful I've come across. Not wish magic, more like... miracle magic..."
The lift is broken again. I curse under my breath and head for the stairs. All fifteen floors of them.
"I know, Sophie. But... it's been nearly three months. No miracles. No magic. And it's... it's OK." The word grinds in my throat.
"You don't have to say that. It's not OK." I swallow, breathing hard as I continue upwards.
"No, no, it's not OK. But you've done everything you could possibly do. I love you for that."
"They said miracles aren't like wishes. You make a wish and it comes true, not always in the way you want, but miracles... they're not as obvious. Not as clear. It's more like knocking down dominos. One thing leads to the next until..."
I hear the desperation in her voice, her desire for this to work. Misery can be like a heavy cloak, weighing you down, and then you remember there are people like Sophie in the world and maybe the horrors feel a little less. Her magic might not be working, but she's doing more than she realises.
"Maybe... maybe."
Sophie falls silent. In the background, I can hear Kira's grit-laden voice, the cries of a newborn waking from sleep.
"You need to go."
"I do. Kira's had about two hours of sleep in two days and I think she's close to a breakdown."
"Send her my love."
"I will. And Lola?"
I drag myself out of the stairwell and stumble into the hallway. My front door is in sight. I'm practically shaking with exhaustion now. There's cold sweat on my forehead.
"Sophie?"
"Willow says she's going to try again."
My back snaps straight and I lean against the wall. Closing my eyes, I ground myself with the familiar stale scent of the hallway, and the dim sounds of families waking. The feel of the peeling paint beneath my fingers.
"She's back in Bristol for a few days. And she's going to have another go. Her powers are growing and..."
I want to tell Sophie that Willow shouldn't be trying, but I can't. I want her to succeed so badly I can't taste it on my tongue.
"I... don't know what to say... I'll thank her next time I see her and Henry."
I drag myself upright and unlock the door. Walking into the flat as Sophie says her goodbyes.
The noise hits me first, and I smile. Home might be a tiny flat that perpetually smells like fried food from the takeout restaurants on the street below, with second-hand furniture and damp on the walls, but it's mine and I've worked damn hard for this place.
On the TV in our messy front room, a Disney film is blaring out loudly, almost but not quite covering the other noises. Flesh slapping against flesh, pans sizzling in the kitchen, and a loud voice talking in medieval English. All combine to form the chaos of the home I love.
I walk out of the hallway and into the open-plan kitchen and front room. Steam travels to the ceiling, adding a dramatic flourish to whatever scene Mary is rehearsing.
"My army, my dear country, will you follow me, into the darkness, into the abyss of blood and war.... for I am the Queen of... oh shit!" The quivering lid flies off the pan, and bubbling water hisses against the stove.
"Is that in the script?"
Mary quickly removes the pan, swearing under her breath.
"No, this series is more fire and brimstone. Less boiled egg and soldiers."
I drop my bag on the counter and search the room for the source of the other noise.
"What's the show?"
"Oh, you know. Just something small I might have an audition for." For an actress, Mary is a terrible liar. But I won't push for the truth. Mary's desperate for her big break. She's been trapped in extra purgatory for a few years now. Partly because she's been here, helping me to drag myself out of the mess her brother left me in.
"Where's Rabbit?"
Mary starts serving up the eggs before looking absently around the room.
"Oh, she was just... where is she?" I giggle at Mary's blank face and walk towards the noise of crowds cheering and punching. Hidden partially by the corner of the settee and perched in between a packed bookcase is my tiny, red-haired daughter. She looks up at me, wide green eyes shocked at being caught, and then she breaks into a wide-toothy grin.
"Oops."
"Oops, indeed, Gracie. Did Auntie Mary say you could watch that?"
I help pull her out of her hiding spot, and she settles onto the settee. Her superhero pyjamas are half hidden by a pale blue dressing gown. She continues to watch the iPad, already ignoring me.
Mary, who is buttering the toast, snorts from across the room.
"I do not let her watch that stuff. It's your account she's worked out how to access, so don't blame me. I'm not the boxing buff."
"Can Mummy have a proper hello?" I say, and the small bundle leaps up and hugs me. I'm squeezed tightly, but after a moment she sinks back down and is focusing on her show once more. I snatch the iPad off her and her bottom lip juts out.
"Mummy!"
"There's no point pretending you're watching this." I point to the Disney film. I tap the screen and soon the boxing match and all the accompanying noises fill the TV screen and room. She beams up at me and settles back down.
"You're a terrible mother!" Mary calls from across the room.
"Noted." I turn back to Gracie. "You feeling OK, baby?"
"Uh-huh." I'm giggling as I walk back to Mary and the counter.
"How was work? Did you get him?" I sigh, reminded again of how exhausted I am. Glancing down at the breakfast she's making and try to ignore how the sight of food turns my stomach. I need to sleep, not eat.
"Yeah, the sleaze was in the Number Thirteen club. Once I pay back the advance George gave me from last month, I might actually be able to pay some bills."
"That's good because..."
Mary throws down a couple of envelopes onto the counter and my body clenches. I can already tell by the angry red letters these are not first reminders or even second. Sighing, I push them aside.
"I'm not sure it's going to cover all this..."
"I have a couple of days on Eastenders later in the week. And don't you have a couple of small jobs?"
"Yeah, but they won't pay a lot... I might have another job. A big job. I don't want to take it, but... after George's cut, it would be a big payday. My biggest ever." If I take it. And my stomach lurches at the thought of it.
"Oh, who? Who's been a bad boy... or girl, this time?" I bite my lip, forcing myself to say his name.
"Lachlan Thomas."
Mary steps back, a melodramatic hand going to her chest. I want to tell her more. Tell me what this case really means to me but I won't. After I moved to London. I left the old Lola behind. I needed to move on. Start again. Which I did. And when my ex-boyfriend won a gold medal at the Olympics. I kept quiet. When he won his first heavyweight belt, I kept quiet. When his image started appearing on every screen and every magazine I saw, I kept quiet. And when he won every heavyweight belt the world had to offer, I still kept quiet. And the longer I've kept our history a secret, the harder it is to let it go.
"Take that back. He would never cheat on his wife. Have you seen her for a start?"
"I know she's... perfection. Her name's Chelsea, right?" Mary puts a hand on her hip. She shakes her head, her ink-black bob quivering.
"We need to get you on TikTok. How can you even do your job will a level of celebrity knowledge my great-nan would be embarrassed about?" I snort but turn away. On the screen, Katy Carmichael is fighting Agii Merchant. And winning with ease. Gracie is tracking the movement, punching the air herself as she watches. The fight ends in a flurry of flashing lights and sweaty hugs. And then the screen switches to the pundits, and my chest aches.
"That guy is just the hottest thing ever. You're annihilating my faith in men, Lola. You know that?"
Lachlan is sitting with two former boxers and a presenter. I'm not really listening as I step closer to the screen. I've never got used to seeing him like this. His hair was cut neatly in a slick style, the ink coiling out of his open shirt, and his pale grey suit cut perfectly to his sculpted body. His ease on camera. I have watched him grow in confidence over the years and now he looks as comfortable as if he was chatting to friends. Sighing, I turn back to Mary.
"If I prove everything Chelsea says is true, it would destroy his reputation..."
"If he's done what you're saying, then maybe he deserves it. Or at least he doesn't deserve protecting." Mary shrugs. "Hey, Rabbit?" She calls to Gracie, who is staring at the screen as intently as me. "You've got to eat your breakfast. You've got a checkup in a bit, remember?"
I turn sharply and Gracie smiles weakly as she stumbles up to the island and pulls herself onto a stool.
"Lola, sit and eat something." I drag myself away from the screen and sit in a seat next to my daughter, who's quickly dunking her bread soldiers into the bright yellow yolk.
"I'm not hungry. I think ate too much last night." Mary shakes her head as she stands across the counter from us and begins eating herself.
"You need to look after yourself better. I can't remember the last time you had breakfast." I shrug. My stomach is still lurching.
"I can take her to the checkup. You need to rehearse." She shakes her head and stuffs a dripping piece of bread into her mouth.
"No, you need to sleep."
"No buts. I'll do it. Besides you need to be ready for tomorrow."
I frown.
"What's tomorrow?"
"Toby's organised this amaaazing thing?!" Gracie bursts out with excitement. "You have to come, Mum! He won't tell me what it is, so it must be really good."
"Of course, I'm coming." I kiss the top of her head and mouth to Mary - 'What is it?'
"I don't know. His mum messaged earlier. You know Toby. Something to cheer the kids up on the ward. He does so much for them. How does a kid start up his own charity? I can barely work out how to pay my phone bill."
I feel my body crumple inwards and see the same thing happening to Mary, who just smiles weakly. Toby had suffered from leukaemia and after years of battling, of chemo, of drugs, he was finally in remission. And had been for over six months. He'd had a bone-marrow transplant that had saved his life. And at fourteen, he dedicated all his time to helping kids still trapped in the cycle he was now free from. Kids like my daughter.
My phone buzzes and I glance down, bleary-eyed, but I still recognise the clipped formal message.
Please call the Heartfield clinic immediately.
Mary meets my eyes, her lips tight.
"What is it?"
"Just the clinic. They're after more money, no doubt." I place the phone on the table and watch my daughter as she eats her breakfast. Her red hair, which was once long, curling across her shoulders, is now short. Wispy from treatment. Her skin is an icy pale, but still warmer than the sickly grey shade she turned after chemo. I lean down and kiss the top of her head. She smiles up, protected from the sadness of my thoughts.
Time was fleeting, and miracles were in short supply even for a girl with magic burrowed under her skin. I had no choices left. Gracie needed every chance I could give her. I'd find the money. I'd be the miracle she needed.
Mary looks at me sympathetically, and then her eyes glance at the screen behind our heads. Lachlan is still talking about the fight. His deep voice cutting through me, despite my thoughts pulling me in away.
"With all things considered... can you afford not to take this case?"
My back stiffens as I meet Mary's eyes. No, this is one case I can't afford not to take.