Robin sat up and swung her legs over the side. When the dizziness passed, she stood and rested her cheek on the bars in front of Lennie’s pillow. She stroked the smooth back of her head. My seal, she’d used to call her, back in the days of the bath routine, when Lennie had been small enough to turn in the width of the tub, slosh joyfully from one end to the other.

Last night she’d allowed herself a shred of hope that in the light of day, after some sleep, Maggie would decide she’d been too harsh and give her another chance, however warily. No, judging by her mother’s tone – Christine had lowered her voice so much that she couldn’t hear the words, a feat in itself – that was not going to happen. She was unemployed again. No salary, no means of supporting Lennie. She’s still investigating, isn’t she, in a way? Not now she wasn’t, not even scroungers on the sick. She was screwed. At this point, who would write her a reference for McDonald’s, even?

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘Yes. I’m not going to be working with Maggie any more.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I did something she didn’t agree with. Last night – that’s why I was out so late.’

She frowned. ‘What did you do?’

‘Len, actually, it wasn’t just that she didn’t agree with it. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I found someone we’d been looking for but then let them go.’

The same thing, again and again.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know yet. But don’t worry, okay? I’ll sort things out.’ She stopped before adding, I promise.

With a scuff of carpet, the door opened. ‘Morning, Lennie, love. Did you sleep well?’ Christine crossed the room, the passage between the bunk beds and the little desk so narrow that Robin felt the air move as she went by. She drew the curtains in two crisp moves then turned around again. ‘Up and cracking, sweetheart. It’s eight already. Grandpa’s going to drop you off this morning. Porridge for breakfast, okay?’

‘Yes. Thanks, Gran.’ Lennie folded back her duvet and Robin moved to let her down the ladder.

Christine waited until Len closed the bathroom door then glared at her. ‘We’ll talk about this when they’ve left.’

As Robin was dressing, her mobile rang. Number withheld. Here it was then, the call she’d been expecting all yesterday, Samir’s considered judgement on how he was going to deal with her. But there was no way she could have that conversation now, with the others downstairs at the breakfast table. The thought of Christine hearing what Josh had done. What she’d done.

‘Can I ring you back, Samir?’