“We can yatter over ’ere,” Holly told Robin, taking her fresh pint and pointing Robin to a corner table beside a piano.

The pub’s windowsill bore ships in bottles: pretty, fragile things compared to the huge, sleek monsters that were being constructed beyond the windows, behind that high perimeter wall. The heavily patterned carpet would conceal a thousand stains; the plants behind the curtains looked droopy and sad, yet the mismatched ornaments and sporting trophies gave a homey feel to the large room, the bright blue overalls of its customers an impression of brotherhood.

“Hardacre and Hall is representing a large group of servicemen who suffered serious and preventable injury outside the field of combat,” said Robin, sliding into her pre-rehearsed spiel. “While we were reviewing records we came across your brother’s case. We can’t be sure until we talk to him, of course, but he’d be very welcome to add his name to our pool of litigants. His would be very much the type of case we’re expecting to win. If he joins us, it’ll add to the pressure on the army to pay. The more complainants we can get, the better. It would be at no cost to Mr. Brockbank, of course. No win,” she said, mimicking the TV adverts, “no fee.”

Holly said nothing. Her pale face was hard and set. There were cheap rings of yellow gold on every digit except her wedding-ring finger.

“Kevin said summa’ abou’ the family gettin’ money.”

“Oh yes,” said Robin blithely. “If Noel’s injuries have impacted you, as a family—”

“Ower righ’ they ’ave,” snarled Holly.

“How?” asked Robin, taking a notebook out of her shoulder bag and waiting, pencil poised.

She could tell that alcohol and a sense of grievance were going to be her greatest allies in extracting maximum information from Holly, who was now warming to the idea of telling the story she thought the lawyer wanted to hear.

The first thing to be done was to soften that first impression of animosity towards her injured brother. Carefully she took Robin over Noel joining the army at sixteen. He had given it everything: it had been his life. Oh yeah, people didn’t realize the sacrifices soldiers made… did Robin know Noel was her twin? Yeah, born on Christmas Day… Noel and Holly…

To tell this bowdlerized story of her brother was to elevate herself. The man with whom she had shared a womb had sallied forth into the world, traveled and fought and been promoted through the ranks of the British Army. His bravery and sense of adventure reflected back on her, left behind in Barrow.

“…’n ’e married a woman called Irene. Widow. Took ’er on with two kids. Jesus. No good turn goes unpunished, don’t they say?”

“What do you mean?” asked Venetia Hall politely, clasping half an inch of warm vinegary wine.

“Married ’er, ’ad a son with ’er. Lovely little boy… Ryan… Lovely. We’ve not seen him for… six years, is it? Seven years? Bitch. Yeah, Irene jus’ fucked off when ’e was at the doctor’s one day. Took the kids—and his son was everything to Noel, mind. Everything—so much for in sickness and in fuckin’ health, eh? Some fuckin’ wife. When ’e needed support most. Bitch.”