Just by the entrance to the parking lot is a flower bed crammed with large, tall flowers that I don’t know the name of but that I can snap off pretty easily. Ramzy picks some too till we have a bunch: the sort of bunch you’d take when you visit a sick person in the hospital.

It’s nine p.m. and eerily quiet. Above the swishing of cars on the road, the only other sound is the noisy spluttering of the campervan as Clem accelerates away up the street. Ramzy and I both take a deep breath.

“Stealing an old lady from hospital, Ramzy? Is that adventure enough for you?” I ask.

He seems to consider it, biting his bottom lip, eventually saying, “Yeah. We mustn’t mess up, though.”

“Good advice, thanks,” I say, but I don’t think he gets my sarcasm.

I lead the way up the long driveway toward the large glass doors of the hospital entrance.

“Remember, Georgie. Cool heads. No one suspects kids. We just behave as if we’re meant to be here. Think about the Famous Five. What would they do?”

“Well, I don’t think the kids in an Enid Blyton story would be sneaking into a hospital with stolen flowers to rescue a mad scientist, for one thing. BUT if they did, I think they would be cool and super polite.”

Ramzy lifts his chin and pulls back his shoulders. “Then that’s how we are! So…after you, Sergeant Santos.”

“Why, thank you, Private Rahman.”

Our jokiness is an act: in fact, my heart is pounding even harder than it was by the tree earlier. The glass doors hiss open as we approach. Inside, the reception area is smaller than I’d expected, and therefore we could be spotted much more easily. A small group of four or five people are clustered round the front desk, which is good. The receptionist may not notice us.

A large sign on the wall gives a guide to all the different departments, like this:

X-rays and Radiology—Wright Annex (straight ahead)

Natal and Neonatal—Renwick Wing (G)

Oncology—Stables Wing (1st floor)

It’s a long list. Ramzy and I stand to the side, trying not to look obvious, searching for the one we want.

Geriatric Services and Ward—(G)

There’s an arrow pointing through the double doors ahead of us. Ramzy rearranges the flowers he’s clutching to make them look a bit tidier, and I can see that his hands are trembling, making the leaves on the stolen bouquet shake. The receptionist is still busy with the group of people surrounding her desk.

“Ready?” I say, and Ramzy takes a deep breath and nods at exactly the moment I hear the other set of doors open behind us and a deep voice say, “Well, what a surprise! It’s Miss Georgina Santos, as I live and breathe!”

I turn to see Jackson, the security guard, grinning his head off in the middle of the lobby.

This is not a good start.