And here was a strange thing. Their younger brother Jeb had never come back at the Flynn family, never pursued the matter of his two missing brothers. Or had he? Had Jeb – who had already done vile things for Shauna – had he come back here while Josh was away, made a deal with her?

Josh thought he had.

What he also thought was that Shauna had probably kept – and still kept – Jeb at hand to do any dirty work for her. And he shivered in alarm as he thought of poor old Pally and Trace and – Jesus! – Claire, over there in New York. One thing he was certain of: Shauna must never, ever know about him and Claire.

Rikker dovo adrée tute’s see, he thought in his old Romany tongue as he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Keep that a secret.

97

97

‘I’m going back to the States,’ said Josh at breakfast a few days later.

They were alone in the kitchen, him and Shauna. Connor was in London at the flat he kept there, and Aysha was out for the day with her husband.

‘What?’ demanded Shauna, dropping her knife and fork with a clatter. ‘Do you have to?’

‘Come on, Shaun. You know the pay’s better there. The crowds are bigger. It makes sense.’

‘No it don’t,’ said Shauna. ‘We need you here, Josh. Your family needs you.’

Josh said nothing, carried on eating. His family didn’t need him. His kids didn’t, anyway. Connor was a coper, he’d handle anything. And Aysha? Poor little cow, he felt bad for her. But they had both said their piece on her wedding day, and that had cleared the air. Now she was a married woman with a kid of her own on the way. As for Shauna . . . well, he wanted to be away from her. The further, the better. He wanted to think all this shit through, without her nagging at him. And he desperately needed to see Claire.

He couldn’t even look at Shauna now. Because of this woman, he’d lost his true love. And because of her love of money he’d killed a man, been untrue to himself.

Committed to her, tied to her by Connor’s birth, he’d tried so hard to give her everything she wanted. But really he’d always known that nothing would ever be enough for her. He’d got a fortune for what he’d done in the New Forest – but it had eaten into his soul, killing Andrew Meredith. He’d crossed a red line that day, gone against his own instincts, and it was all her fault. Everything was.

‘Is this about some bastard telling you crap about me and Jeb Cleaver?’ she asked, her eyes alight with fury.

‘No. It ain’t.’

‘You’ve been in a funny mood ever since you came back from the States.’