‘Robin,’ their mother had said, stern. She’d turned back to the stove but not before giving Luke an undeniable look of sympathy. ‘Luke quite often comes over in the week,’ she said. ‘Whether he wants to or not.’ She’d given him another look – this one, if Robin wasn’t mistaken, to see if she’d raised a smile. ‘Imagine if Lennie left home and never came to see you.’

‘Give it a few years and you won’t have to,’ Luke said, sipping his tea. ‘Poor kid. I bet she’s counting the days.’

‘Well, at least I …’ Robin had stopped, swallowed the retort and walked away. Luke wasn’t worth her emotional energy today. Any day, actually.

She’d found Lennie reading, huddled into a corner of the sofa, feet tucked under. ‘Hi lovely.’ She’d sat down next to her. ‘What’s the book?’

Lennie held up her paperback copy of The Owl Service, bought a couple of years ago at the Oxfam on Marylebone High Street, dog-eared even then.

‘Eighth time or ninth?’ Robin asked, trying to put a smile in her voice. At times of crisis, Lennie was a comfort reader, going back to the same handful of books again and again. She must have wanted this one a lot: the boxes of her books, mummified with packing tape, were on the very top shelf in the garage to keep dry.

‘Tenth. Maybe.’

‘How was school today?’

‘Okay. We had PE.’

‘What did you play?’

‘Netball.’

‘How was that?’

‘Okay.’

Not quite blood from a stone, Robin had thought, but close. ‘Have you had English yet?’

‘This morning.’

‘Who’s your teacher? What books are you doing?’

‘One book.’ She’d paused. ‘Lord of the Flies.’

Robin’s heart had sunk. They’d done that last year at RPG. She thought of the maths homework, too. Would Lennie just be going over stuff she already knew? She’d get bored, lose interest, and this was an important time, thirteen, fourteen; if she disengaged now, she could … No – Robin had stopped, told herself to calm down. It was too early to panic and Len liked to work, she’d never had to be compelled. ‘So you’ve got a head start,’ she’d said.

Len had shrugged. ‘I was up for something new.’

Over dinner, the mother–son love-in had nearly put Robin off her food – it made her sick how Christine pandered to him. Would you like more potatoes, Lukey? Another beer? No wonder he was so bloody stunted.

Worse, though, was that – of course – he’d heard her conversation with Len through the wall. ‘So how are you doing at Savvy’s then, Lennie?’ he’d asked through a mouthful of chicken. The one thing you could say for Natalie was that she was a civilizing influence on him.

‘Okay. It’s only my first week.’