When Marnie Logan was fourteen she dreamed of marrying Johnny Depp or JasonPriestley and living happily ever after in a house with a Gone-with-the-Windstaircase and a double-fridge full of Mars Bars. When she was twenty-five shewanted a house with a small mortgage and a big garden. Now she'd take a flat onthe ground floor with decent plumbing and no mice.

Pausing on the landing, she swaps two plastic bags of groceries between herhands, flexing her fingers before continuing the climb. Elijah is ahead of her,counting each step.

"I can count to a hundred," he tells her, putting on his serious face.

"What about a hundred and one?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"That's too many."

Elijah knows how many steps there are from the lobby to the top floor of themansion block (seventy-nine) and how long it takes for the electronic timer toflick off, plunging the stairwell into darkness (sixty-four) unless you runreally fast; and how to unlock the front door using two different keys, the goldone at the top and the big silver one at the bottom.

He pushes open the door and runs down the hallway to the kitchen, calling Zoe'sname. She doesn't answer because she's not at home. She'll be at the library orat a friend's house, hopefully doing her homework, more likely not.

Marnie notices an envelope on the doormat. No stamp or address. It's from herlandlords, Mr. and Mrs. Brummer, who live downstairs on the second floor and whoown four other flats in Maida Vale. This makes them rich, but Mrs. Brummer stillcollects coupons and holds up the queue at the supermarket by counting outcoppers that she keeps in little reusable plastic bags.

Marnie puts the letter in a drawer with the other final demands and warnings.Then she unpacks the groceries, the cold items first, restocking the fridge.Elijah taps his finger on the fishbowl where a lone goldfish, stirred fromindolence, circumnavigates his universe and comes to rest. Then he runs to thefront room.

"Where's the TV, Mummy?"

"It's broken. I'm getting it fixed."

"I'm going to miss Thomas."

"We'll read a book instead."

Marnie wonders when she learned to lie so easily. There is a gap in the cornerof the room where the TV used to be. Cash Converters gave her ninety pounds,which paid for the groceries and the electricity bill, but not much more. Afterunpacking the bags, she mops the floor where the freezer has leaked. Amechanical beep tells her to close the door.

"The fridge is open," yells Elijah, who is playing in her wardrobe.

"I got it," she replies.

After wiping the speckled gray bench tops, she sits down and takes off hersandals, rubbing her feet. What's she going to do about the rent? She can'tafford the flat, but she can't afford anywhere else. She is two months behind.Ever since Daniel disappeared she's been living off their limited savings andborrowing money from friends, but after thirteen months the money and favorshave been exhausted. Mr. Brummer doesn't wink at her any more or call her"sweetie." Instead he drops around every Friday, walking through the flat,demanding that she pay what's owed or vacate the premises.

Marnie goes through her purse, counting the notes and coins. She has thirty-eight pounds and change—not enough to pay the gas bill. Zoe needs extraphone credit and new school shoes. She also has an excursion to the BritishMuseum next week.

There are more bills—Marnie keeps a list—but none of them compare tothe thirty thousand pounds she owes a man called Patrick Hennessy, an Ulstermanwith malice in every lilt and cadence of his accent. It was Daniel's debt. Themoney he lost before he went missing. The money he gambled away. According toHennessy, this debt didn't disappear when Daniel vanished. And no amount ofcrying poor or begging or threatening to tell the police will wipe it out.Instead the debt is handed down like a genetic trait through a person's DNA.Blue eyes, dimples, fat thighs, thirty thousand pounds: from father to son, fromhusband to wife ... In Marnie's worst dreams, the Ulsterman is a distant light,hurtling toward her down a long narrow tunnel, miles away, but getting closer.She can feel the rumbling beneath her feet and the air pressure changing, unableto move, locked in place.

Hennessy visited her two weeks ago, demanding to see Daniel, accusing Marnie ofhiding him. Forcing his foot in Marnie's door, he explained the economics of hisbusiness, while his eyes studied the curves of her body.

"It's a basic human trait, the desire to live in the past," he told her, "tospend a few harmless hours pretending that everything will be as it used to be,but the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny aren't real, Marnella, and it's timefor big girls to grow up and take responsibility."

Hennessy produced a contract signed by Daniel. It named Marnie as being equallyliable for his debts. She pleaded ignorance. She tried to argue. But theUlsterman only saw things in black and white—the black being the signatureand the white being a sheet covering Marnie's body if she failed to pay.

"From now on you work for me," he announced, pinning her neck against the wallwith his outspread fingers. She could see a stray piece of food caught betweenhis teeth. "I have an agency in Bayswater. You'll go on their books. Half ofwhat you earn will come to me."

"What do you mean, an agency?" croaked Marnie.

Hennessy seemed to find her naïvete amusing. "Keep that up. It'll play well withthe punters."

Marnie understood. She shook her head. Hennessy raised his other hand and usedhis thumb to press against her neck below her earlobe right behind her jawbone,finding the nerve.

"It's called the mandibular angle," he explained as the blinding pain detonateddown Marnie's right side, making her vision blur and her bowels slacken. "It's apressure point discovered by a martial arts professor. The police use it tocontrol people. Doesn't even leave a bruise."

Marnie couldn't focus on his words. The hurt robbed her of any other sense.Finally, he released her. "I'll send someone to pick you up tomorrow. Get somephotos taken. How does that sound?" He forced her head up and down. "And don'teven think of going to the police. I know the name of the nursing home where youkeep your father and where your children go to school."

Pushing the memory aside, Marnie fills the kettle and opens the fridge, removinga Tupperware container of gluten-free Bolognese, which is pretty much all Elijaheats these days. He's happy. He doesn't cry. He smiles all the time. He justwon't put on any weight. "Failure to thrive," is what the doctors call it; ormore technically he has celiac disease. If he doesn't eat he can't grow and ifhe doesn't grow ...

"I have to go out tonight," she tells him. "Zoe will look after you."

"Where is she?"

"She'll be home soon."

Her daughter is fifteen. Independent. Strong-willed. Beautiful. Rebellious.Hurt. Adolescence and hormones are difficult enough without tragedy. Allchildren destroy their own childhoods by wanting to grow up too quickly.

Tonight Marnie will make five hundred pounds. Hennessy will take half the money.The rest will pay the bills and be gone by tomorrow afternoon. Her cash doesn'tcirculate so much as spiral down the drain.

Standing at the sink, she looks down at the garden below, which has a paddlingpond and a broken set of swings. A gust of wind rocks the branches, sendingleaves into a spin. She doesn't know most of her neighbors in the mansion block.That's what happens when you live on top of people and beside them and oppositethem, but never with them, not together. She might never meet the personon the other side of the plastered wall, but she will hear their vacuum cleanersknocking against the skirting boards and their petty arguments and favorite TVshows and bedheads bashing against the common wall. Why does sex sound likesomeone doing DIY?

On the far side of the garden, beyond the laneway and the lock-up garages, thereis another garden and an identical mansion block. Mr. Badger lives on the fifthfloor. Elijah gave him the name because his gray streak of hair reminded him ofBadger in Wind in the Willows. Marnie came up with another name afterseeing Mr. Badger standing naked at his kitchen window with his eyes half-closedand his hand moving frantically up and down.

A few days ago somebody passed away in the mansion block next door. Marnie hadbeen looking out the window when she saw the ambulance pull up and collect thebody. According to Mrs. Brummer, who knows everybody in Maida Vale, it was anold woman who'd been sick for a long time. Shouldn't I have known her, wonderedMarnie? Did she die alone like one of those forgotten old people whose partiallydecomposed bodies are found months afterwards when a neighbor finally complainsabout the smell?

When Elijah was born Daniel put a baby monitor near his cot and they discoveredalmost immediately how many other parents in the neighborhood had bought theidentical monitor broadcasting on the same channel. They heard lullabies andmusic boxes and mothers breastfeeding and fathers falling asleep in their baby'sroom. Marnie felt as though she was spying on complete strangers, yet oddly intouch and connected with these people who were unknowingly sharing theirexperiences.

Elijah has stopped eating. Marnie tries to coax another mouthful, but his lipstighten into a single line. She lifts him down from his booster seat and hefollows her into the bedroom, where he watches her getting ready. He holds herlingerie up to the light with his hand under the fabric.

"You can see right through it," he says.

"You're supposed to be able to."

"Why?"

"You just are."

"Can I zip up your dress?"

"This dress doesn't have a zip."

"You look very pretty, Mummy."

"Why thank you."

She looks in the mirror and turns sideways, sucking in her stomach, holding herbreath, causing her breasts to stick out.

Not bad. Nothing has started to sag or wrinkle. I've put on a little weight,but that's OK, too.

On other days she will look at the same reflection and hate the harshness of thelighting or find faults where she could be kinder.

Along the hallway she hears the front door open and close. Zoe dumps herschoolbag in the corner of her bedroom and kicks off her shoes. She goes to thekitchen where she opens the fridge and drinks milk straight from the container.Wiping her mouth, she pads barefoot to the living room. Shouting.

"Where is the fucking TV?"

"Mind your language," says Marnie.

"It's broken," says Elijah.

Zoe is still shouting. "It's not broken, is it?"

"We can do without a TV for a few weeks."

"Weeks?"

"When the insurance money comes in we'll get a new one, I promise. A big flat-screen TV with cable and all the movie channels."

"It's always about the insurance money. We're not going to get the insurance."

Marnie emerges from the bedroom, holding her shoes. Zoe is still staring at theempty corner where the TV once sat. Her blond curls are flying loose, as thoughtwisting toward the light.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm sorry," says Marnie, trying to give her daughter a hug.

Zoe shrugs her away. "No you're not. You're useless!"

"Don't talk to me like that."

"We don't have a computer. We don't have the Internet. And now we don't have afucking TV!"

"Please don't swear."

"Weeks?"

"I said I was sorry."

Zoe spins away in disgust and slams her bedroom door. Elijah has gone quiet. Hecoughs and his whole body shakes. His chest has been jumping all day. Marniefeels his forehead. "Is your throat sore?"

"No."

"Tell Zoe to take your temperature."

"Can I stay up?"

"Not tonight."

"How long will you be?"

"Not long."

"Will I be awake when you get home?"

"I hope not."

The doorbell rings. Marnie presses the intercom button. A small screen lightsup. Quinn is standing on the front steps.

"I'm on my way," she tells him, grabbing her purse and keys. She knocks on Zoe'sdoor and presses her face near the painted wood.

"I'm going now. Dinner is on the stove."

She waits. The door opens. Zoe is wearing shorts and a singlet-top. One ear-budis wedged in her ear, the other dangles. They hug. It lasts a beat longer thanusual. An apology.

Elijah pushes past Marnie and launches himself into his sister's arms. Pickinghim up easily, Zoe settles him on her hip and blows a raspberry into his neck.She carries him to the living room and looks out the large bay windowoverlooking the street.

"You must be the only waitress in London who gets picked up in a fancy car."

"It's a bar, not a restaurant," says Marnie.

"With a chauffeur?"

"He works on the door."

"A bouncer?"

"I guess you could call him that."

Marnie checks the contents of her bag. Mobile phone. Lipstick. Eyeliner. Mace.Keys. Emergency numbers. Condoms.

"Take Elijah's temperature and give him Calpol if he has a fever. And make surehe does a wee before you put him to bed."

Walking down the stairs, she hoists her dress higher on her hips to make iteasier. As she reaches the foyer, she tugs it down again. A door opens. Trevorpeers from inside his flat and opens the door wider.

"Hi, Marnie."

"Hi, Trevor."

"Going out?"

"Yep."

"Work?"

"Uh huh."

In his early thirties, Trevor has a skinny chest and widening waist, frecklesacross his nose and cheeks. Headphones are hooked over his neck and the corddangles between his knees.

Marnie glances at the exterior door. Quinn doesn't like to be kept waiting.

"I've bought some new music," Trevor says. "Would you like to hear it?"

"I don't have time right now."

"Maybe later."

Marnie is at the door. "Maybe."

"Have a good night," he shouts.

"You, too."

She feels guilty. Trevor is always asking her to listen to his music or watch aDVD. She sometimes borrows his computer to send emails or look up information,but doesn't linger. Trevor is the caretaker who looks after the gardens andgeneral maintenance. He's also what Daniel used to call "a drainer": someone whosucks the energy from a room. Other people are "heaters" because they givewarmth and make you feel energized and happy around them.

Quinn crushes a cigarette beneath a polished black brogue. He doesn't open thedoor for Marnie. Instead he slips behind the steering wheel and guns the engine.Sullen. Silent. Marnie's stomach rumbles emptily. The booker at the agency toldher not to eat before working because it would make her feel bloated.

Reaching Harrow Road, Quinn weaves aggressively through the traffic.

"I told you seven o'clock sharp."

"Elijah has a cold."

"Not my problem."

Marnie knows three things about Quinn. He has a Geordie accent, he keeps a tire-iron in the door pocket next to his seat, and he works for Patrick Hennessy.This is only Marnie's third night. Each time she has felt her stomach churningand her palms grow damp.

"Is he a regular?"

"A newbie."

"Has he been vetted?"

"Of course."

Marnie's best friend Penny had told her to ask questions like this. Penny hadexperience. After university, she worked as an escort in between modellingassignments because the latter couldn't cover her credit card bills or fund hertaste in designer clothes. Marnie was shocked at the time. She asked Penny whatthe difference was between being an escort and a prostitute.

"About four hundred pounds an hour," Penny replied, making it sound so obvious.

Marnie pulls down the sun visor and checks her make-up in the mirror. Is this mylife now, she wonders? Opening my legs for money. Making small talk with richbusinessmen, pretending to be dazzled by their charm and wit. Paying backPatrick Hennessy one trick at a time. It's not what she expected or imagined,not when she was Zoe's age, or when she married Daniel, or when she lost him sosuddenly. When she was seventeen she was going to be a journalist, writingfeature stories for Tatler or Vogue. She settled for a job inadvertizing and was a junior copywriter. Loved it. Fell pregnant. Left.

Not in her worst nightmares did she imagine working for an escort agency. And nomatter how often she told herself that it wasn't for ever, just a few moreweeks, just until she gets the insurance money, it didn't stop the butterfliesdoing power dives in her stomach.

Only two people knew—Penny and Professor O'Loughlin, the psychologist thatMarnie has been seeing. The rest of her friends and family think she has a newjob, working as a part-time manager at an upmarket restaurant. And when thesesame friends drag out clichéd analogies of "whoring themselves" in theircorporate jobs, Marnie just nods and commiserates and thinks, "you wankers."