‘She said you were a drunkard and took drugs.’

‘I was. I did. When I was your age. I grew out of it, thank goodness, before I killed myself.’

There was silence, but each man was studying the other. Then Tom’s stomach rumbled.

‘If I could have a sandwich and a cup of tea, that’d be great? I’m a bit hungry. I only had enough money for a single train fare, you see, and we didn’t have much food in the house.’

‘Of course you can have something to eat. Excuse me a minute.’ Jez picked up the phone and ordered lunch to be brought up to the suite, then went back to join Tom, who was sitting on the edge of the chair, legs apart, staring down at his clasped hands. Jez hesitated, then patted his son’s shoulder, the first time he’d ever touched him since he was a baby. He’d only been allowed one visit to see his new-born son, then Mary had vanished and her parents wouldn’t say where she was. She’d gone back to live with them once Jez had left the area, though. She’d been a pretty girl. He wondered what she looked like now. The baby had turned into this sturdy young man with Jez’s face.

Tom looked up at him, tears spilling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to come and ask you for money straight off. It must sound awful.’

Jez could bear it no longer, but pulled his son to his feet and hugged him. ‘Whatever the problem is, we’ll sort it. I promise we’ll sort it. But don’t apologise for coming to see me. I’ve longed for this day.’

For a moment the younger man stood rigidly in his father’s embrace, then he burst into strangled sobs and leaned against him. ‘I don’t know – what to do.’

‘Neither do I.’ Jez hugged his son even harder, bitterly conscious of all the years of hugs he’d missed out on, not sure if he’d ever be allowed to do this again.

After a few moments, Tom pulled away, wiping the tears with the sleeve of his sweater and muttering, ‘Haven’t even got a tissue.’

‘Here.’ Jez pulled a fistful out of the box that sat at one end of the bar, thrust them into his son’s hand then grabbed more for himself.

There was a knock on the door and he cursed under his breath. He went to answer it and found two waiters with a trolley. ‘Set up lunch as quickly as you can in the dining area, please. We’ll serve ourselves.’

He paced up and down impatiently while they fussed about getting things just right. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he kept remembering the simple meal Sophie had provided and how good that had tasted. Would this fancy one taste any better? He doubted it.

Shutting the door behind the waiters, he turned to Tom, who had kept his back to the room, as if staring out at the view of the Thames. ‘You all right?’