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needles in me. All I know is that Scotland has gone all Och Aye the Ghoul.” She stops and looks at me. “God, I hope Smitty didn’t zombify,” she says. “Because if he did, I bet you any money he’ll come after me.”
    Personally, I think that if Smitty’s a zombie he’ll be far more discriminating than to chomp on Alice.
    “He couldn’t have turned. He had the entire syringe of antidote in his leg, remember?”
    Alice blinks. “How could I forget? You chose to save your boyfriend before saving the entire human race!”
    I do a complicated snort-cum-eye-roll combo that clearly screams I did not! and He is so not my boyfriend! But I find it interesting that I Don’t Actually Say the Words. Partly because I don’t need the drama of an Alice-a-thon argument, and partly because a teeny weeny bit of me thinks she might be right. On both counts.
    “Maybe your mum could tell us.” She nods behind her as if Mum is just waiting outside the door. “Help us get out of here. She was pretty good at that before.”
    “Yeah.” I press my cheek against the glass and try to look into the windows across the courtyard. “Except they told me she was dead.”
    Alice gasps. “Are you serious?”
    “Yep.” I glance at her.
    She has one hand clamped across her mouth, her eyes blinking rapidly. The hand falls away. “That’s terrible!” There’s a glint of a tear in her eye. “How on earth are we going to get out of here now?”
    Nice one, Alice. Just think about how this is going to affect you, huh?
    “I might have an idea.” I lift my foot and pull my phone out of my boot.
    “Oh my god!” Alice cries. “Have you tried to call for help?”
    “Not yet.” I switch it on, and make a silent prayer. It takes an age to spring into life. Alice gets bored and pushes in to look at the little screen. She groans and throws her head back.
    “Don’t tell me. No reception. Big fat surprise. There never is. Like, how do you spell YAWN.”
    I move to the window, but still nada. “So we go somewhere we can get reception.”
    “If that place actually exists!”
    The pit of my stomach is warning me that Alice might be right. I check my text messages. Nothing new. Just a couple of old ones of Mum’s. The sight of them chokes me up a little. I go to press the OFF button, but before I do, I see there’s an icon in the corner of the screen that I don’t recognize.
    Was that there before?
    It’s a little book. I think it’s telling me I have numbers stored, or something. Why is that bugging me?
    “What is it?” Alice says.
    “Nothing.”
    “Not nothing. Your crazy’s showing. What’s eating you?”
    I shake my head, knowing how lame this is going to sound. “I’m Bobby-no-Buddies, remember? But the phone’s telling me I’ve got numbers stored.”
    “Gimme that.” Alice snatches at it and deftly navigates the menu. “Pleased to tell you you have friends now.”
    I take the phone back. There’s a list on the screen:
    Marigold
    Mum
    Poffit
    Smitty
    With trembling hands I scroll down the list, twice to make sure. Then I click on “Mum,” and a number comes up.
    A wave of relief crashes over me.
    Now I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Mum is alive.
    And she’s trying to tell me something.
    Since the crash, somebody entered those names and numbers. Obvs, it wasn’t me. I walk to the foot of the bed again, and sit on the cold floor.
    “Mum put these numbers in.”
    Alice curls her lip in confusion. “I thought you said she was dead?”
    “I think Martha lied to me.”
    I’m checking out that list. Mum, yeah, Smitty, fine. But the other two? Marigold is not known for her conversational skills. She’s my grandmother’s grumpy cat, who hates me so much that last time I stayed there she left a dirty protest in my bed.
    As for Poffit … well, that’s the one that seals the deal. And the mosthumiliating of the lot. Poffit is the name of the random bit o’ blankie I used to toddle around with, Linus-stylee,