“She’s all right,” the blonde said. “She’ll make us pizza and won’t tell on us.”

That was good enough for Rosie. In a perfect world, she’d have delivered the children safely into the arms of their frantic yet forgiving parents, but the world was far from perfect, and a big sister who gave a damn and supplied pizza was better than nothing. She collected the cider bottle and stamped out the barbecue. “Mind how you go on the stairs,” she said. “If you get down them in one piece and don’t try to scarper at the bottom, I’ll buy you all a McFlurry.”

* * *

The woman put an arm around her boyfriend and laid her head on his shoulder. “At least the old sod went peacefully,” she said, and Jem almost spat her chewing gum into the bucket of bloody vomit at her feet.

The protracted and grisly demise of Stanley Brown had been anything but peaceful. A chronic alcoholic with a gastric ulcer, he had decorated every room of his flat with bright red sprays of gore before collapsing in the corner behind his telly. Rigor mortis had frozen his face in an agonised grimace, and his outstretched limbs were contorted, as if he’d spent his last seconds warding off a wild animal.

The woman made an elaborate sign of the cross, only in reverse and enhanced by a knock-kneed curtsy, and then gave her boyfriend a chirpy thumbs-up when he came back into the room carrying a six-pack and a large plastic bag. Busy with her paperwork, Jem hadn’t noticed him leave, but he’d evidently been raiding Stanley’s kitchen.

“Stan would want us to have these,” he said. He handed the woman a pilfered can of super-strength lager and toasted the body with his own. “Cheers, pal. You were the very best of us.” Dabbing his dry eyes with a ragged handkerchief, he turned to Jem. “You need owt else from us, love?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll just wait for the police to arrive.” She raised an eyebrow at the plastic bag. He was struggling to lift it, and glass clinked every time he moved. Pre-empting any enquiry on her part, he gave her a brisk nod and sidled toward the front door.

“Come on, Yvonne. I’m sure the paramedic is very busy.”

Although far from sober, Yvonne got the message and tottered across to join him on the threshold. “We’ll be in the Red Lion if anyone needs us,” she said.

“Grieving,” he added, and stumbled in his haste to get out of the door.