‘Let’s all have a drink to celebrate our good fortune. In a couple of days we’ll be on our way back home, out of this godforsaken snowhole, and richer than we dreamed. What a Christmas present! The best part of it all is, we can bleed that bitch for years and years.’

Evander frowned at the words.

Then a large glass of bourbon was placed in his hands and he drank the toast with his so-called friends. But the words stayed with him.

At just after eleven a knock came on the front door. Skip looked out of the window and was amazed to see Kerry Cavanagh and her daughter on the doorstep.

‘Jesus Christ! It’s the broad and the kid. They’re on the doorstep!’

Pushing the two other men from the room, Skip told Evander to let them in and play the game again.

This was working out even better than he’d hoped. As he crept up the stairs to join the others he wished he had reset the tape recorder. This would have been better than ever.

Outside it was snowing again and Liselle looked at the shabby house and shivered.

‘Mum, what are we doing here? What’s this big surprise?’

Kerry, buoyed up with drink, pills and excitement, grinned, hugging her fur coat around her tighter.

‘You’ll soon see.’

Evander stood uncertainly behind the front door. This was not on the agenda, this was not supposed to happen. On the other side of that door was his child. If he met her, spoke to her, he would have to acknowledge her as such. Then he would have to cheat them both. Kerry was hard enough, but he figured she owed him. The child owed him nothing. He wished he hadn’t had so much drink, or that he’d drunk more so he would be oblivious of all these feelings assailing him. Shame, guilt. And worst of all, much worse than the other two, longing. He was longing to see her now.

Kerry knocked again. From the landing came Skip’s angry voice.

‘Open the fucking door, black boy, what you waiting for? Christmas?’

The voice brought him back to earth and Evander opened the door. Kerry swept in, dragging the girl behind her, her red fox coat still glistening with flakes of snow. Her hair glossy and sleek on her head like a luxurious hat. He had to concentrate on Kerry because he was frightened to look at the girl with those deep brown eyes and that coffee-coloured skin.

Kerry, always the dramatist, held out Liselle’s arm and said loudly: ‘Baby, meet your father.’