“So many children,” he says wonderingly. “No wonder he came to court so often. Murder and manslaughter must have seemed so easy to deal with after that.”

I laugh and hand my glass to him for a refill. He sloshes the liquid in, missing some of the glass and spilling vodka onto the floor. “Oops,” he says lazily, smiling at me and lying back on his own end of the sofa.

“My dad ran off,” I say finally. “Not sure why, but off he toddled, leaving my mother with six children.”

“That’s probably why.”

I snort and then curse. “Vodka went up my nose,” I explain.

“Try putting it in your mouth. It makes everything so much easier.” He chuckles as I reach over and shove him again. I seem to be moving slowly, which is a good indication that I should stop drinking right about now. But if I do, I’ll sober up, and my thoughts will crowd into my head again, going round and round like a Ferris wheel. So, I slam the shot down.

“Crap,” I say with feeling.

He grins. “Was the judge a good stepfather?”

I consider that. “I suppose so. He’s not close to any of us, but he’s done his best. He sort of tolerates our presence. Probably because we’re all loud and opinionated.”

“You’re not loud.”

“Not at the moment,” I say. “You’re not exactly meeting me at the right time.” His eyes sharpen with curiosity, and I immediately seek a diversion. “You need a dog,” I say, my words slurring. “Shit, I’m pissed.”

The intensity of his gaze diminishes with a quick blink, and he maintains his relaxed sprawl. I wonder if he learned that insouciance at his job or if it’s a result of his childhood.

“What?” he asks. “A dog?”

I nod. “It’s a fantastic idea, and I know I’d say so even if I hadn’t just emptied half a bottle of vodka that I’d need a mortgage to buy.” He snorts, and I notice that he’s listing slightly to one side. “You don’t want an actual person in the flat, Mags, but you could have a dog.”

“Aren’t they very demanding?”

“Not really.” I wave my glass around in my enthusiasm, and both of us look blearily at the liquid that arcs from the glass and spills on the carpet. Then he looks back at me, so I carry on. “They’re loyal and loving to everyone. You don’t have to have a good personality for a dog to love you. Just a pulse.”

“Why are you saying such things to me? You sound as if my personality is a minus point on the dog chart.”