“How amazing!” Nick furrowed his brow. “Could it have been John’s child?”

“Of course it was John’s child. She didn’t even know that she was pregnant when he was killed on nine-eleven.”

Nick clicked his tongue. “What a bugger, eh? On the other hand, it’s pretty marvelous that she has something of his for always, if you get my meaning.”

“It would have been better still if they had been married. Then she would have got some compensation.”

“Are you still sending her money?”

“As much as I can, yes. I don’t think Jackie would be too pleased if she found out that I was keeping another woman.”

Nick swept away a long string of blonde hair from his face. “Are things going any better with you and Jackie, or is she still being a bit frosty?”

Dan snorted out a laugh. “No, the girls are now the frosty ones. Jackie has turned into the ice maiden.” He let out a long sigh. “But I keep smiling through it all and cooking them semidelicious meals and coming out with jovial remarks that no one finds particularly funny, in the hope that my infectious happiness will lead us all to a better life.”

“And is there any sign of that happening?” Nick asked.

Dan chuckled. “No. I just irritate the hell out of them all.”

Nick became thoughtful and began tapping his fingers on the table. “Listen, Dan, why don’t you try getting out of London for a bit? I mean, there’s nothing to stop you from taking the whole family away somewhere for a week.”

Dan shook his head. “The school term’s just started, Nick. You can’t just whip the kids away when you feel like it.” He glanced at Tarquin on the bench. “Maybe you don’t know about that kind of thing yet. Anyway, Jackie has Paris Fashion Week coming up soon, so there’s no way that she would want to go.”

“Well, go over to Paris with her. Get Battersea Gran to look after the kids.”

The remark made Dan smile. When his father had died two years before, he had moved his mother from her council house in Tottenham Hale to a small flat in a high-rise block overlooking the River Thames in Battersea. It had never ceased to amuse him that she was now universally known as Battersea Gran. “Yeah, I could, I suppose. I’ll have a word with Jackie tonight when she gets home.”

Nick gave a quick nod of his head as if to finalize the point. “Good.” He leaned over his son and carefully extracted a newspaper from the pocket of his jacket. “Now, let’s move on to more important matters. How about coming to Stamford Bridge on Saturday?”

“Who’s playing?”