Shauna sprang to her feet and raced up the stairs. Josh grabbed the baby out of his high chair, wiped his chin with the bib, and followed more slowly, carrying Connor with him. When he got to their bedroom, Shauna was on the floor with the carpet pushed back and the board up. There were notes scattered all around her and piles more of them stuffed down in the gap under the floorboards.

‘How much?’ she gasped, looking up at him, her eyes alight with avarice.

‘Five hundred thousand,’ said Josh, thinking of Andrew Meredith’s head blowing off his body in a meaty red shower.

‘It’s a fucking fortune!’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ said Josh, and turned and left the room. He went downstairs, put Connor back in the high chair and sat there at the table with his half-eaten plate of beans in front of him. He pushed the plate away. Connor grizzled. Presently Shauna came back down and sat and looked at him.

‘You feel bad about it,’ she said.

‘What do you think?’

She stretched across the table and grabbed his hand. ‘Look, Josh. You did a job, that’s all.’

‘That’s all?’

She was nodding. ‘You did a job, and you’re supporting your family with the money you’ve earned from it.’

‘Blood money.’

‘Don’t look at it like that. We could buy a palace with five hundred grand,’ said Shauna, glancing around their modest but ultra-clean kitchen.

‘Yeah. I suppose we could.’

Shauna’s voice was gentler, softer now. Almost hypnotic. ‘We’re all just passing through, Josh,’ she said. ‘Life is short. You didn’t do a bad thing because that man was bad. He was a problem and you got rid of him. You did what you had to do.’

‘Yeah,’ Josh sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

But deep down, he didn’t believe it. What he did believe was this: that the better part of him had died the night he lost Claire. And now? He didn’t even know himself. Not any more.

54

54

‘Happy then, Shaun?’ Josh asked his wife.

It was two full years since Josh had fought Matty O’Connor. Two years since he’d lost Claire. Shauna had every reason to be happy, Josh thought. He’d bought this place in Henley-on-Thames, not a quarter of a mile from where Dave and Philippa Houghton lived, with a chunk of the money from the shooting. Cash on the table. The view from all the rear-facing windows was nearly identical to the view Dave and Philippa enjoyed.

Of course there was a small risk of flooding, the estate agent had been straight with them about that, but like Dave and Philippa’s place the house itself stood up on a slight slope, so it was safe enough. The agent said that it certainly wasn’t enough of a risk to deter anyone from buying such a beautiful house.