Olivia watched the other two go off arm in arm towards Venables, Lafferton’s only and quite small department store, before turning down the snicket beside the cab rank. She didn’t know why she had said she was meeting her dad, she hadn’t even thought of him for a bit, let alone seen him. He sent her funny cards, emails and expensive presents, but he never suggested they meet, apart from last Christmas, and that was fine with her, she had spent two years steeling herself against any feelings for him. And it was all right. Mostly. Her mother had said from the beginning that she would never get between the two of them, Liv must do as she liked and see him whenever she wanted to, he was her father, and there would be no resentment from her, but Olivia knew that actually Greta wanted anything but that, she wanted the two of them to be a tight, self-sufficient unit.

She came out into the bottom end of town, where the scuzzy betting shop and tattoo parlour were, the boarded-up nightclub and the back of the multi-storey. She glanced round. But he would be there before her, he always was.

The Black Cat Cafe had Formica tables, and a flashing, banging, screaming slot machine. An old man was shoving coins into it and leaning on the glass front, staring at the whirring orange and neon-blue things going round, looming out and back, crashing down. The place smelled of stale chip fat and tea leaves.

‘Thought you wasn’t coming.’

He was right at the back in the dark corner, furthest away from the counter. He had a cup of tea in front of him, a can of Coke opposite.

‘Thought you’d gone cold on me.’

Olivia opened the drink can, though she was not going to drink and did not look at him. He was weaselly, with three rings in one ear, but he had a face you didn’t remember. She never could. It was weird, a sort of blank, you thought about him and you got the earrings and the ginger hair and that was it.

Her heart had begun to thump hard.

‘Just the one this week. It’s too bloody quiet.’

‘I can’t.’

He sucked the tea through his front teeth, and stared at her. His eyes were too pale, as if someone had washed the colour out.

‘I think I need to go to the doctor, get my ears checked, because I didn’t quite hear that.’

‘I said I can’t. I can’t this week. And not . . . not any more.’

‘Ah.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, picked a sugar lump out of the bowl. ‘And why would that be, Miss Posh? I think you’re joking, winding me up, aren’t you? Least, I hope you are.’