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Rose was drawn to the taxidermied animals, just as Fiona had known she would be – especially the dogs. There was a collie, a bulldog, a greyhound – just their heads – attached to the wall, like hunting trophies in a country house. They stared out from the display cabinet, eyes glazed, impervious to all the little kids who ran around shrieking and leaving finger marks on the glass.

‘What do you think?’ Fiona asked.

‘It’s kind of ... beautiful?’ Rose replied.

Dog heads on a wall. Not gross. Or weird, or scary. Beautiful.

That’s my girl , Fiona thought.

‘ She’s my favourite,’ Fiona said, gesturing to the wolf at the centre of the display. The head was so much larger than the surrounding dogs’. ‘What big teeth she has.’

‘She looks a bit like Albie and Eric’s dogs.’

Fiona scoffed. ‘Those German shepherds? They’re pussycats compared to this lady. Top of the food chain, the wolf. Well, almost.’

‘Apart from humans, you mean?’

‘Exactly.’

They wandered away from the canine display and browsed the other cabinets. Birds and rodents and lizards. Skeletons and skulls. Herbivores and carnivores. Then they found themselves standing beside the enormous walrus who took pride of place at the centre of the room.

‘Look at him,’ Fiona said. ‘The power, the strength. The apex predator. And do you know what makes him even more powerful? No conscience. No guilt. Do you think he feels bad after tearing a penguin apart? Does he hell. And that’s what makes animals superior to most humans. We—’

‘Excuse me.’

The voice came out of nowhere, and Fiona looked around before realising she was being spoken to by a small boy. A skinny little thing in glasses, about six years old.

‘The walrus isn’t an apex predator. Polar bears will attack them. Sometimes they even throw rocks and ice at them.’

Fiona’s smile was thin. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, it is. A walrus can weigh seventeen hundred kilos, so its size makes it daunting, but polar bears are more agile.’

Where had this child come from? Rose was staring at him with her nose wrinkled. There was no sign of a parent watching him.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Fiona asked.

‘She’s over there somewhere.’ He waved an arm in the vague direction of the door.

‘She’s left you unattended? What do you think, Rose? Do you think a mother animal would do that in the wild? Let her cubs wander off on their own to bother other animals?’

Rose laughed, and the boy blinked in confusion.

Fiona bent towards him, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘Your mummy should be more careful. There might be predators here .’

There was so much ice in her voice that the boy immediately began to cry. Moments later, a woman came rushing over, her phone in her hand. As Fiona had suspected, she had been too busy staring at her screen to keep an eye on her offspring, although she’d tuned in to the sound of his distress impressively quickly.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’ she asked, crouching and pulling the boy against her chest.

He was sobbing too hard to answer.

‘He thought he’d lost you,’ Fiona said. ‘You know, you shouldn’t let your kids go off on their own. Something terrible could happen. There are dangerous people around. How would you feel if your little professor here disappeared?’

The mother stared at her, mouth hanging open, while the boy continued to snivel.

‘Come on, Rose,’ said Fiona, and she led her away before the woman recovered.

Out in the garden, beneath an overcast sky, Fiona and Rose sat at a trestle table eating a mid-morning snack from the café. Fiona was still a little hungover from last night. It was going to take her a while to get used to alcohol again; she’d only drunk it to keep Ethan company.

It had been an illuminating evening. Emma and her ‘emotional affair’. Useful information. And Ethan was so desperate, so beaten down, that it was all going to be even easier than she’d anticipated. She knew it would take very little to get him exactly where she wanted him.

Oh, how he was going to regret opening up to her. By the time she was finished, he was going to regret everything.

‘Hello? Fiona?’

She realised Rose was talking to her. ‘Sorry. I was miles away. What were you saying?’

‘Just that I saw that boy and his mum leaving. He was still crying.’ She dropped her voice. ‘You were so mean to him.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yeah. Like ... a baddie from a film.’

‘Really? Which one? Cruella? Miss Trunchbull?’

‘Like one of The Witches .’

‘From the Roald Dahl book? He should be grateful I didn’t turn him into a mouse.’

Rose giggled. Her eyes were wide. ‘You don’t hate children, though, do you?’

‘Only annoying, swotty ones.’ Fiona glanced towards the exit. ‘He’ll be okay. Maybe he’ll think twice about approaching strangers now. I’ve done him a favour. Not to mention all those strangers.’

Rose was staring at her.

‘Why do you think I brought you here, Rose?’ Fiona asked.

‘I don’t know. To look at the dog heads?’

‘Ha, yes. But why?’

Rose shook her head.

‘Okay, well, think about it. You’re a very clever girl, and I know you’ll figure it out.’ She leaned forward. ‘You’re not just clever, Rose, you’re special. Special like me.’

Fiona got up from the table and gathered up their rubbish, carrying it over to the bin. When she came back, she said, ‘Have you thought of the question you want to ask me yet?’

‘I’m saving it,’ Rose replied.

They left the museum grounds and Fiona consulted the Transport for London app on her phone. The bus stop they needed was down the hill, near the train station.

‘Where are we going now?’ Rose asked.

‘Back to Herne Hill.’

‘You mean, it’s prank time?’

‘It sure is.’

They got on the bus and went up to the top deck. She was finding it hard not to let her excitement show, which was probably why she’d allowed herself to get carried away with the little professor. After all this time, all the planning in prison, the groundwork she’d laid.

‘Let’s run through it again,’ Fiona said, keeping her voice low so the other people on the bus couldn’t hear her. She took the sandwich bag containing the cookies out of her bag, gave it to Rose, then went over what she wanted her to do. This time Fiona had baked the cookies on her own, though she’d only kept a couple and had put all the others straight in the dustbin outside. She’d scrubbed all the surfaces and thrown out the bowl and spatula she’d used.

‘I don’t understand why you needed his keys,’ Rose said.

It was still too soon to tell Rose everything, so she was sticking with the story about this being a prank.

‘Oh, I didn’t need them in the end,’ she lied. ‘I decided that prank was too complicated and unfunny. This one is better.’

‘So ... after he tastes the cookie and realises it’s full of chilies, you’re going to jump out from behind the tree and yell “Got you!”?’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s not the best prank in the world ever, is it? You could have, I don’t know, put farting powder in them.’

Fiona laughed. ‘I’m not sure farting powder exists, Rose.’

She tingled with anticipation, like a woman who was about to be reunited with her lover after a long absence; a kid who’d been waiting for Christmas since December 26th.

The bus stopped by the park and she hurried down the steep stairs, with Rose following, striding towards the bench in the quiet corner of the park where Max always sat and ate his lunch. If he wasn’t there, if for some reason his routine had changed, she would just have to come back another day – but she needn’t have worried, because there he was. On the bench beneath the cloudy sky, smart top, scruffy bottoms, finishing his lunch while looking at his phone. His backpack sat beside him.

‘Okay,’ Fiona said. ‘You know what to do. Right?’

Rose nodded.

‘Oh, this is going to be so good.’ Taking a look around to ensure no one was coming, Fiona slipped behind a broad-trunked tree and watched Rose trot over to the bench. Max looked up, recognition dawning. Recognition but no suspicion, which was just what she’d expected. He was the kind of man who breezed through life believing everything was going to work out for him. He’d never known any different.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but, just as she had outside Max’s house, she watched his lips move as Rose spoke to him, holding up the sandwich bag containing the two new cookies.

Rose would be following the script Fiona had drilled into her. For the prank.

Did you like the cookies? I made some more and have a couple left over.

He nodded, and Rose handed the bag to him.

I think these ones are better. I used more chocolate. What do you think?

Encouraging him to try them right there, right then. That was important, because Fiona needed to know it had worked. He had just eaten lunch, but he was a man who always had room for dessert – and here was this sweet, familiar girl, smiling at him.

He examined the bag and plucked out a cookie, which he lifted to his lips. Fiona felt a cord tighten in her belly. This was it. She didn’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife, thought both Heaven and Hell were stupid concepts, but she liked to imagine that Maisie was beside her to witness this. Revenge. Just deserts.

Rose was unaware what would happen when he took a bite, expecting him to do nothing more than spit it out and start begging for water, his mouth burning from the chilies Fiona had told her were inside the cookie. At that point, Rose believed, Fiona would spring out, laughing and shouting, ‘Surprise!’

He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

Took another bite.

He hadn’t detected the taste of nuts, which she had disguised with a lot of sugar and cinnamon.

Rose turned her head to look back at Fiona, frowning with confusion. Why hadn’t he reacted to the chilies? Fiona shook her head, silently telling her to turn around, but it was too late. Max had followed Rose’s gaze.

He saw Fiona.

The expression on his face was one she wished she could frame. The shock. The horror. She stepped out from behind the tree, Rose looking from her to Max then back again, thoroughly confused. But, right now, Fiona didn’t care about the girl’s reaction. She was too busy watching Max.

One hand went to his throat. He put the other hand in his pocket and took out the remaining cookie in the transparent plastic bag. He held it up and stared at it, then threw it to the ground. Almost in the same motion, he grabbed his backpack and tore open the front compartment.

Rose came over to Fiona, asking what was going on, but Fiona ignored her. She couldn’t take her eyes off Max. He was frantically digging through the rucksack, pulling out envelopes and biros and notebooks, chucking everything on to the grass as he searched for the device he needed so desperately.

His EpiPen.

He held the backpack up, tipping it upside down, shaking out the remaining contents.

Then he looked around, seeking help. His face was pink. He clutched at his throat, his mouth opening and closing, trying to speak, making a horrible gasping, choking noise.

He fell on to his knees and suddenly there were two people running towards him, a man and woman who had seen him collapse. Fiona quickly joined them, ordering Rose to stay back.

Max was lying on the path now, holding his throat, unable to speak. The woman crouched beside him, talking to him, while her male companion called 999. Max tried to suck in air, his eyes bulging, and he tried to speak, to answer the woman’s questions, but no air could go in or out.

He pointed a finger at Fiona, and for a second she thought he was going to manage to form a word or two, but then his hand flopped and he gave up. She hoped that among his panic and fear there was some room for regret. For the realisation that he should never have been arrogant. Should never have relaxed.

When the man and woman weren’t looking – the man was shouting into his phone, demanding to know where the ambulance was – Fiona scooped up the bag with the cookie he had dropped and slipped it into her pocket. Then she went back to Rose, pulling her into an embrace.

‘Don’t look, sweetheart,’ she said in a loud voice, for the benefit of the couple who were trying to help Max, and for others who had started to gather around. The rubberneckers, arriving on the scene when it was too late to do anything.

She wanted to say something else. She wanted to tell her, Some people are predators, Rosie, and some people are prey. But the girl wasn’t ready. Not quite yet.

So instead she urged Rose not to say anything, whispered to her that she needed to keep quiet. And she pressed Rose’s face against her own damp torso as she watched the show.

As the first person on her list stopped breathing.