‘Stupid man,’ Mum was saying. ‘He always thought he was so damn clever. Thought he could beat the odds. Well, it turned out he couldn’t. Pauline’s been supporting him for years, while he kept promising to give it up. She finally decided she’d had enough. So he’s come to try and scrounge off us. Your gran’s money.’

I swallowed a gob of phlegm that was forcing its way up my throat. How pathetic I was. How gullible, how desperate to believe he cared about me, that he was proud of me. The bright flash of insight about myself was making me physically ill.

‘The charity …’ I croaked.

‘All made up. It was for him. Has he given you a load of rubbish about that, Meg? Please don’t tell me you gave him money. Not your gran’s money.’

‘No, Mum, I won’t give him anything. Look, I have to go – I’m taking Hamlet to Hannah’s.’

I indicated and pulled out in front of an Audi which was clearly speeding because it hadn’t been there a second ago. The driver’s face shone red in my mirror, inflamed with rage. He beeped his horn and swore. I gave him the finger, past caring if I was the star of his latest dash-cam video, and headed for home.

I juddered the car to a halt on the cobbles outside my house. Dad’s old VW had gone. I should have known he was skint from the geriatric nature of his car. He’d always liked his cars.

It was too hot to leave Hamlet, so I grabbed his carrier and headed into the house at a swift, furious lollop. I plonked him in the hallway, and he gave me an outraged look.

The house was silent, a slight smell of toast and a few crumbs on the table the only evidence Dad had ever been there. His bag and wallet were gone. The cheque I’d given him last night, that he’d shoved under a mug on the windowsill, was gone. He must have been halfway to the bank by now.

I charged up to the spare room. Dad’s suitcase was on the floor, no doubt with all his stuff neatly packed so he could leave as soon as my cheque cleared. I grabbed it and hurled it at the wall. ‘You fucking bastard!’ A tower of books came crashing down. I kicked the suitcase.

I opened the window. It was only a small, leaded one and Dad’s suitcase wouldn’t fit through it. I ripped the case open, grabbed his clothes and hurled them out. They fell like dead things onto the tiny garden area outside the front of the house. I went into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, and chucked that out of the window too.