“He’s out,” Dave said despondently.

Evie said: “He might be taking an afternoon nap.”

Another door opened, and Hank emerged from what was obviously the bedroom, pulling his jeans on. He closed the door behind him. “Hello, love,” he said. “I was in bed. Hello, Dave, what are you doing here?”

“Evie brought me to ask you a really big favor,” said Dave.

“Yeah,” said Hank, looking at Evie. “I was expecting you later.”

“Dave couldn’t wait.”

Dave said: “We need a new song.”

“It’s not a good time, Dave,” said Hank. Dave expected him to explain, but he did not.

Evie said: “Hank, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, actually,” said Hank.

Dave was startled. No one ever answered yes to that question.

Evie’s feminine intuition was far ahead of Dave. “Is there someone in the bedroom?”

“I’m sorry, love,” said Hank. “I wasn’t expecting you back.”

At that point the bedroom door opened and Anna Murray came out.

Dave’s mouth fell open in shock. Jasper’s sister had been in bed with Evie’s boyfriend!

Anna was fully dressed in business clothes, including stockings and high heels, but her hair was mussed and her jacket buttons were misaligned. She did not speak and avoided meeting anyone’s eye. She went into the living room and came back out carrying a briefcase. She went to the apartment door, lifted a coat off the hook, and went out without speaking a word.

Hank said: “She came round to talk about my autobiography, and one thing led to another . . .”

Evie was crying. “Hank, how could you?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “It just happened.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“I did. I do. This was just . . .”

“Just what?”

Hank looked to Dave for support. “There are some temptations a man can’t resist.”

Dave thought of Mickie McFee, and nodded.

Evie said angrily: “Dave’s a boy. I thought you were a man, Hank.”

“Now,” he said, suddenly looking aggressive, “watch your mouth.”

Evie was incredulous. “Watch my mouth? I’ve just caught you in bed with another girl, and you’re telling me to watch my mouth?”

“I mean it,” he said threateningly. “Don’t go too far.”

Dave was suddenly scared. Hank looked as if he might punch Evie. Was that what working-class Irish people did? And what was Dave supposed to do—protect his sister from her lover? Would Dave be expected to fight the greatest musical genius since Elvis Presley?

“Too far?” Evie said angrily. “I’m going too far now—right out of the fucking door. How’s that?” She turned and marched away.

Dave looked at Hank. “Erm . . . about that song . . .”

Hank shook his head silently.

“Okay,” said Dave. “Right.” He could not think of a way to continue the conversation.

Hank held the door for him and he went out.

Evie cried in the car for five minutes, then dried her eyes. “I’ll drive you home,” she said.

When they got back to the West End, Dave said: “Come up to the flat. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”