Necropolis

stretch of cheap shops and restaurants punctuated by new office developments that would have looked out-of-date the moment they were built. Bermondsey, Walworth, Camberwell…they crawled from one district to the next without ever noticing where one ended and the next began, and all the time they were aware of time ticking away. Half past eleven, twenty to twelve…they didn't seem to be getting any nearer.
    "This is hopeless," Richard said. "Maybe we'd better go to Heathrow after all."
    The driver shook his head. "We're nearly there," he said.
    They dropped down a steep hill — Dog Kennel Hill, it was called — and, looking out of the window, Matt began to feel something very strange. He had never visited this part of London — he was sure of it.
    And yet, at the same time, he knew where he was. He glimpsed a radio mast in the distance, a road sign pointing to King's College Hospital. They meant something to him. He had been here before.
    And then it hit him. Of course he knew this part of the city. He had lived here — from the time when he was a baby to when he had been about eight years old.
    He should have remembered it. It hadn't been that long ago. But perhaps he had blocked it out. It wouldn't have been surprising after everything he had been through. Now it all came flooding back. The mast belonged to Crystal Palace. He had often played football there. He had gone into the hospital on his seventh birthday with suspected food poisoning. He remembered sitting miserably in the waiting room with a plastic bowl balanced on his knees. They drove past a very ordinary house, but Matt knew at once who lived there. It was a boy named Graham Fleming who had been his best friend at school. The two of them had always thought they would be inseparable.
    Matt wondered if he was still living there. What would he say if the two of them met now?
    And there was something else he remembered. If he went past Graham's house, turned the corner, and walked past the old scout hut, he would come to a small, terraced house in a leafy street where all the houses were small and terraced. Number 32. It would have a green door and — unless they'd finally mended it — a cracked front step. That was where he had once lived.
    "How much farther?" Richard asked.
    The driver glanced at the GPS. "We're a minute away," he said.

    They went through a traffic light at a busy junction, then drove up toward North Dulwich station, turning onto Half Moon Lane, which was just opposite. Matt felt dazed. It was extraordinary to think that for half their lives, he and Scarlett had almost been neighbors. They might have passed each other a dozen times without even knowing it. She lived on Ardbeg Road, which was the next on the left, and just for a moment, the way ahead was clear. The driver accelerated, glad to be able to use the Jaguar's power.
    "Look out!" Richard shouted.
    A car shot out from a private driveway and smashed right into them.
    Matt saw everything. He heard the roar of an engine, and that made him turn his head. The car was coming straight at them. The driver was staring at them, his hands clenched on the wheel, not even trying to avoid them. He was middle-aged, clean-shaven — and there was no emotion in his face. He should have been scared.
    He should have been showing some sort of reaction, knowing what was about to happen. But there was nothing at all.
    Half a second later, there was a huge crash of metal against metal as he smashed into them.
    The other car was an SUV, and it was like being hit by a tank. The Jaguar was swept off the road, the world tilting away as it was hurled toward a wide, modern house with a short driveway sloping steeply down to the front door. There was a second collision as it hit the door, more crumpling metal. The house alarm went off. Jamie cried out as he was thrown sideways, his head hitting Matt's shoulder. Matt tasted blood and realized that he had bitten his tongue. The Jaguar was lying at an angle, almost underneath the front wheels of the BMW, which was still on the road above them. Both the windows on the driver's side had shattered. The engine had cut out.
    For a moment, nobody moved. Then Richard swore — which at least meant he was alive. He twisted round in the front seat. "Are you two all right?" he asked.
    "What happened?" Jamie groaned.
    "An accident," Richard said. "Idiot…wasn't looking where he was going."
    He was wrong — Matt knew that already. He had seen what had happened. The