His mother sniffed and nodded. “Well,” she said, “I suppose you’ll be hungry. Bacon and eggs?”

Banks knew from experience that feeding him would help his mother get over her bad night. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he couldn’t deal with the protests he knew he’d get if all he asked for was cereal. He was also in a hurry. Michelle had suggested he come down to headquarters to search through the mug shots for his attacker. He wasn’t certain he could identify the man, though the piggy eyes and pug nose were distinctive enough. Still, Mother comes first; bacon and eggs it had to be. “If it’s no trouble,” he said.

His mother walked over to the fridge. “It’s no trouble.”

“Where’s Dad?” he asked, as his mother turned on the cooker.

“Down at the allotment.”

“I didn’t know he still went there.”

“It’s more of a social thing. He doesn’t do much digging or anything these days. Mostly he sits and passes the time of day with his mates. And he has a cigarette or two. He thinks I don’t know but I can smell it on him when he comes home.”

“Well, don’t be too hard on him, Mum.”

“I’m not. But it’s not only his health, is it? What am I supposed to do if he goes and drops dead?”

“He’s not going to drop dead.”

“Doctor says he’s not supposed to smoke. And you should stop, too, while you’re still young.”

Young? It was a long time since Banks had been called young. Or felt young, for that matter. Except perhaps last night, with Michelle. Once she had made her decision, dropped her defenses a little, she was a different person, Banks marveled. It had clearly been a long time since she had been with anyone, so their lovemaking was slow and tentative at first, but none the worse for that. And once she threw aside her inhibitions she proved to be a warm and generous lover. Michelle had also been gentle because of Banks’s cut lip and bruised ribs. He cursed his bad luck, that he had to be injured in combat the first night he got to sleep with her. He also thought it was ironic that such physical injuries were so rare in his line of work, yet both he and Annie had been hurt within hours of each other. Some malevolent force working against them, no doubt.

Banks remembered Michelle’s sleepy late-night kiss at the door as he left, her warm body pressed against him. He sipped some tea. “Is the paper around?” he asked his mother.

“Your dad took it with him.”

“I’ll just nip over the road, then.” His father took the Daily Mail, anyway, and Banks preferred The Independent or The Guardian.

“Your bacon and eggs will be ready.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before they’re done.”

Banks’s mother sighed, and he headed out. It was warm but cloudy outside, and looking like rain again. That close, sticky muggy weather he hated. As he entered the newsagent’s shop, he remembered the way it used to be laid out, the counter in a different place, racks arranged differently. Different magazines and covers back then, too: Film Show, Fabulous, Jackie, Honey, Tit-Bits, Annabelle.