‘I’m nipping down the shops, you want to come?’ said Aysha.

Shauna shook her head.

‘Can I put some tea on for you? Make you a sandwich? What you eaten today, anything?’

‘I can fucking feed myself, Aysha, don’t fuss,’ said Shauna.

Aysha thought that Shauna was looking thinner by the day, but she didn’t snap back.

‘It’s no good upsetting yourself like this,’ said Aysha. ‘I know it’s been hard, Dad going like he did, and that bloody woman turning up.’

Shauna turned her head and her penetrating eyes stared into her daughter’s. ‘You don’t know shit, Aysha. He was mine. Mine. And she’s robbed me of that.’

‘I know. And I’m sorry.’ Aysha came to Shauna and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

Shauna’s stare held Aysha’s. ‘It’s a pity your dad never loved you,’ she said.

Aysha blinked. ‘What?’

‘He never did.’ Shauna shrugged, her face full of sadness. ‘Doted on Connor, of course, but you? Seemed he could never take to you.’ Shauna pulled Aysha into a hug. ‘But I love you, don’t I. I’ve always been there for you. You know that. I’m the only one who’s been a proper parent to you.’

It had never been said out loud before. Aysha stood stiffly in her mother’s embrace. She could feel the bones on Shauna’s back, she hadn’t been eating well at all.

He never loved you.

Christ, that hurt.

‘If there’s anything I can do,’ said Aysha, a shake in her voice. ‘You know you’ve only to ask and I’ll do it. You know that. Anything.’

Shauna pushed Aysha back a step and again her eyes bored into Aysha’s. ‘There might be something,’ she said. And then she smiled.

146

146

Claire woke up and wondered where the hell she was. She was staring up at a ceiling, and she could hear the background hum of an air conditioning unit. She sat up, panicking, thinking Josh . . . ? And then it all came back, hit her like an express train. Josh was dead. She was never going to see him again. She’d crawled off the couch, having drained a whisky from the minibar, and she’d come in here to the bedroom, thinking, Just a little nap. Then she had fallen straight into a deep sleep.

She looked at the digital display on the clock by the bed; it said four-thirty in the afternoon. Yawning, she went to the bathroom to shower, then pulled out clean underwear and clothes, and got dressed. Combed and dried her hair. Then she saw the note on the table.

Gone out for a walk. Back soon. S.

Benedict took the call at the scrapyard office. ‘Hi, Benedict? It’s Mad Dog. The young one’s walking around the pond by Kensington Palace.’

Benedict stared at the phone. ‘What? Who is?’