‘You take the bloody cake, you do,’ he said, slapping the table so hard the cutlery jumped. ‘What the fuck? You didn’t think to talk to me first? Shaun, we’re getting up to our neck in debt here.’

‘That’s rubbish, you earn plenty,’ she said, starting to scowl.

‘Yeah, and I’ve got to carry on earning plenty to keep up with you,’ said Josh.

‘Meaning?’ she fumed, her face falling into stubborn lines.

‘Meaning, take it bloody easy! Ask me before you go spending a fucking fortune on stuff we don’t even need.’ Josh stood up, his dinner only half eaten, thinking – and oh shit he shouldn’t think like this, this was his life now, the kid and Shauna – that Claire would never have done such a thing. Claire would have been happy with anything, however humble, so long as she was with him. He stormed from the room, slamming the door into the hall shut behind him.

‘Who says we don’t need it? Only you, you mean bastard!’ came Shauna’s shout from behind the door.

Upstairs, the baby started bawling its head off. Josh put his jacket on to go down to the pub and was rifling through his pockets for his car keys when he came upon the purple card John had given him. He thought about Shauna, the Money Monster. Christ, he was spitting mad at her, the silly cow. He had red bills piling up, demands for payment coming out of his ears. The rent was a week overdue. He paused in the hall and picked up the phone and dialled the number on the card. It was answered almost instantly.

‘Carlton?’ said a female voice.

‘Is Mr Houghton there, please?’ said Josh. Upstairs, the kid went right on crying. No sign of Shauna.

‘Who wants him?’

‘Josh Flynn. A business acquaintance of his, John Finlay, said Mr Houghton might have some work for me.’

‘Hold on.’

The phone hit a solid object and the woman yelled: ‘Mr Houghton! Phone! Says he’s Josh Flynn.’

Josh waited. More crying from up the stairs. The sound set his teeth on edge. Then a male voice came on the line. ‘Well, you took your fucking time,’ it said.

‘Mr Houghton?’ asked Josh.

‘I’ve been waiting on this call.’

‘Sorry.’ Fuck you.

‘Never mind. So when can you come over?’

‘Soon as you like.’

‘Tonight. Seven. Ask for me on the door,’ said Houghton, and put the phone down.

The baby was still screaming.

‘You going to sort that bloody kid out?’ Josh shouted. Something hit the kitchen doorway and shattered and fell to the floor. Probably what was left of his fucking dinner. Even their food was ridiculous. Steaks, salmon, trout – nothing but the best for Shauna Flynn. She’d be necking foie gras and bloody caviar next, off a silver spoon. Well, fuck her.

Josh left the house without another word to his wife.

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