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“Dash, don’t do that,” Mila said, rolling her eyes at Sophie. “Sorry, we’re still working on personal space.”

Sophie forced a smile. “Not a problem. Hello, Ag.”

“Hello,” Ag said. She tilted her head to one side. “You look pretty. Almost as pretty as when you were at our house with Tilly. I like your trousers. I’m here for your concert. Are you going to come to my concert? It’s in two weeks, except it’s not really a concert, it’s a competition and actually I don’t know if people can just come and watch or if it’s only judges that watch that kind of thing but—”

“Ag,” said Mila warningly.

“Sorry,” said Ag.

“Why don’t you take Dash and get us some seats?” Mila suggested to her daughter. Ag and Dash chased off happily through the crowds. “Honestly,” Mila said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how I’m going to cope with three of them.”

Sophie was peering out onto the street, searching for any sign of Tilly, so the words took her a second to figure out. “Three?” she said, turning back to look at Mila.

Mila pulled a face. “I thought Tilly might have told you already,” she said. “But yes, three. And I’ve already used my twofavorite crime writers to name Dash and Ag. Goodness knows who the next one will be named for.”

“You’ll have some time to decide,” Sophie said.

“There’s plenty of things to decide,” sighed Mila. “Like whether or not Ag can go to a conservatory, and where we’re going to keep a grand piano if she wins one.”

“I’d keep it in the village hall,” Sophie said, looking back out to the street. “The acoustics in a private house probably wouldn’t be great, anyway.”

“Huh.” Mila grinned. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Sophie turned back to her. “No Max today?”

Mila shook her head. “They’re making the arrests for that car theft ring this afternoon,” she said.

Sophie’s stomach plummeted. She turned all her attention back to Mila. There was no point looking out on the street, Tilly wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t be coming at all. Sophie felt sick. Tilly’s job had come first again. Of course it had.

???

“We’ve got a pulse,” said the male paramedic.

“It’s alright, love,” the female paramedic said to Tilly. “It’s alright, we’re here now, you’ve done brilliantly.”

Tilly’s arms felt like they were made of stone and her back ached with the stress of it all. But she looked over and saw Paul Farmer’s skin was turning pink again instead of that horrible, ashy gray. For a second, she closed her eyes and lay her head on the paramedic’s shoulder.

“You did wonderfully,” the paramedic said, patting her back and drawing away. “But we’ve got to get him to the hospital now.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Tilly said, pulling back.

“Do you know who he is? Who his next of kin are?”

Tilly felt nauseous. How was she supposed to tell Sophie this? But she nodded.

The paramedic looked at her for a moment. “You’re police, right?”

“Yes.”

“Want to come in the van with us?” she offered, eyes kind. “The hospital’s not far. You can help keep an eye on things, and you can call his next of kin from in the back, if you want? He’s starting to come round, might even be able to talk to them himself to keep them from worrying.”

“Yes,” Tilly said. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

“Hop in then, love,” said the paramedic, turning around to help her mate roll the stretcher into place.

With a heavy heart, Tilly followed the stretcher into the ambulance, wondering just what she was going to say. Paul was starting to stir, saying something behind his oxygen mask.

“Sir, stay still, sir,” said the male paramedic.