He got his first decent night’s sleep on Friday night. It was fitful, but at least he slept. During the daytime he visited the barber, got a haircut and then invested in a new black polo shirt. It was a bit of a cheap thing, all that he could afford, but he thought it would smarten him up for a first wear.

Saturday evening, and Abbott dressed. He thought that with his new polo shirt and his freshly cleaned Diesel jeans he looked just smart enough without being offputtingly, desperately well-dressed.

His eyes went to the rucksack that he always carried. In the bottom, wrapped in a towel and fastened with a bungee cord, was the Glock that he preferred to keep close, rather than leaving it in the insecure environment of his B&B room. He’d be taking that rucksack with him, of course, but was it presumptuous to stick a new T-shirt and change of pants inside? More to the point, was it weird to turn up with a rucksack?

Tess was used to him carting a bag around; she wouldn’t question it. Besides, he could distract her by giving her . . .

Flowers. He took a risk and waited until he reached Notting Hill before he went in search of a florist’s. The only one he came across was shut, so he had to make do with a super-market, combining a couple of smaller bouquets to make one big one.

With an A–Z in one hand and his bouquet in the other, he made his way to Tess’s house, thinking that for the first time in what seemed like an age, he felt like a member of the human race. Somebody with problems and God knows how many demons to fight, but someone who was going to face them sober.

Tess’s house turned out to be a large, white bay-fronted villa in a boulevard lined with other, similar houses. There was a weird mix of cars along the street. Gleaming SUVs and high-performance German cars, as well as the odd dusty and dirty relic that looked like it might not have been moved this century.

Abbott regarded the house, shoving his A–Z into his backpack and gripping the flowers, taking deep, nervous imperious, shiny-white front door. He climbed the steps, knocked and waited. He heard movement behind the door and straightened.

The door was opened by a tall, handsome, smiling and friendly guy, who immediately proffered his hand to shake. ‘You must be Alex,’ the man said, ‘I’ve been told so much about you. I’m Phil. Tess’s husband.’

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

They had it drummed into them in the forces. Never assume. Never assume.

Yet, Abbott realised, as he stepped over the threshold and into the home, still in a state of shock, holding his ridiculous bunch of flowers and with his rucksack slung over one shoulder, assume was exactly what he had done.