With every flash of blonde hair, he imagined Ali. His pulse quickened each time he thought of her. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the soft musky scent she always wore. And that laugh of hers that made his heart fly. He had to stop this. He was with Maddy now. But Ali was unfinished business. They’d had something special. If he could see her once, it would be enough. To know those bastards hadn’t messed her up. To know she was all right after the abortion. Six years. She’d be twenty-six now and almost certainly not single. Not someone like Ali.

One more try. After two rings, an answerphone kicked in. It was her voice. An elastic band pinged in his chest. She sounded chirpy and professional, as if he’d called some fancy office. ‘Ali, it’s me,’ Max said after the beep. He hesitated, ‘Adam.’ Tom banged his fist on the van door as he walked past. Eight o’clock. If he wasn’t on time he’d have to forfeit lunch. He repeated his mobile number and finished the call.

The elderly woman made them an endless supply of tea that was so weak it tasted like warm milk. They joked about it when she left the room. Bob said it tasted more like brush water. Max climbed a ladder to steam off the thick wallpaper. His mobile phone buzzed.

‘Can you get that?’ Max said, jabbing at the crusted paper, trying to loosen it up.

Bob picked the phone up. ‘What’s her name, lover boy?’ he said waving the phone in the air. He undid his overalls and shimmied around with it down to his shoulders, showing the tattoo of a dotted line around his neck and the words, ‘Cut Here’. The men wolf whistled.

Max stomped down the ladder. ‘Give it here.’ He snatched the phone, but it rang off. There was no message. Max shoved him away and chucked the phone on the mantelpiece. He climbed back up the ladder.

‘Everything all right?’ the woman said in the doorway.

‘No problem, just a bit of friendly banter. Sorry if we disturbed you,’ Tom said. The woman gave a weak smile and shut the door.

‘Come on, Bob, Adam, let’s get this paper off.’ Tom waved his steamer at them.

If Ali hadn’t called by the end of the day, he’d try again. He picked up the steamer and pressed the button but nothing came out. He pressed again and turned it over. A blast of steam shot into his face.

‘Fucking hell,’ he screamed and dropped it on the floor, his hands shaking, hovering inches from his face.

‘Quick,’ shouted Tom. He and Bob dragged Max down the ladder and out of the room. They rushed him to the kitchen. ‘Excuse us, accident.’

‘Goodness. Can I help?’ the woman asked.

‘Please call an ambulance, as quick as you can, he’s burnt his face.’