Ah, fuck. Connor had been wishing she wouldn’t mention it. It pained him. He couldn’t take sides, not against Dad. He’d always looked up to his father, the king of the gypsy fighters. And now the poor bastard wasn’t here to defend himself.

‘Cheating on me with that dirty bitch,’ Shauna spat. ‘That fucking Milo cow. After all these years.’

Connor still couldn’t bring himself to tell Mum that the Milo woman had been at Dad’s funeral. Mum would kick off in spectacular style, and her temper was something no one would put a match to without standing well back first.

‘You got nothing to say about it?’ Shauna demanded.

‘What the hell can I say, Mum?’ Connor burst out in exasperation. ‘It was a fucking shock. Didn’t seem like Dad at all. But he did it.’

‘I got a call from Lesley Deveney this morning. The detective.’

‘And?’

‘She went back out to the States to find her. That whore.’

‘Right.’

‘She’s left her place. According to the doorman the Deveney woman talked to, she’s over here.’

‘Right.’ Somehow, Connor kept his face expressionless. Of course the Milo woman was here. He’d seen her, with his own eyes.

‘If I ever see her scheming face, I’m going to rip it off,’ said Shauna. ‘I’ll tear her bloody blonde hair right out of her fucking stupid head.’

‘She won’t come near,’ said Connor. ‘She must know what our reaction would be.’

‘She better not.’

‘She won’t.’

But she’d been at the funeral . . .

‘I hope he rots,’ Shauna spat out.

Connor shook his head. ‘No. You don’t mean that.’

‘He betrayed me, Connor.’

Connor stood up. He couldn’t take this.

‘I’ll catch you later,’ he said, and left.

He went to Aysha’s place, and wasn’t too surprised when Benedict opened the door to him.

‘Hi,’ said Benedict, in jeans and shirtsleeves, toast in hand. ‘Aysh!’ he called out. ‘It’s Connor. Come in, mate.’

Connor went in. Aysha was in the kitchen, having breakfast. She gave her brother a peck on the cheek. ‘You want tea? Toast?’ she offered.

‘Nah. I came by because I have something to tell you.’

‘Oh? What, then?’

‘Maybe you’d better sit down for this.’

‘Blimey, this sounds bad,’ said Aysha, frowning.

‘What’s this about?’ asked Benedict, following him in.

‘It’s about Dad,’ said Connor, and he pulled out a copy of one of the photos of Josh and Claire Milo, snapped right there in the New York street. He put it on the worktop in front of Aysha. Benedict looked over her shoulder at the print. Aysha stared at it. Slowly, she sagged back on to a kitchen stool.

‘Oh God,’ she said faintly.

‘But – fuck it – that’s Josh,’ said Benedict.

‘Dad was having an affair with this woman. Claire Milo. When he was in the States.’