Briony listened to Liselle’s story with amazement tinged with annoyance. Only Kerry would pull a stunt like that! Anyone else would have done it gently, prepared the ground. But anyone else wouldn’t have been under the influence of vodka and barbiturates. The way she felt now, if she saw Kerry she would be hard pressed not to slap her a ringing blow across the earhole.

‘All right, love, calm down.’

‘But you don’t understand me! It wasn’t that he was black. I knew that, I’ve always known that, though I couldn’t admit it to myself. Now I know it’s true, I don’t care. It’s him, the man himself. I can’t believe he’s my father. He smelt, Auntie Briony, of stale fags, booze and food. He was gross. He was so ... so ... tatty-looking. That’s what hurt me, that I could have sprung from him. And his hands ... his hands were horrible. Then Mum said you had had that done to him. You got someone to break his fingers. But you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?’ It was a plea.

Briony sat down in her chair and sighed. Outside the office was the sound of Bessie singing, the clinking of glasses, the buzz of conversation. If only they were out there instead of in here, trying to make sense of something that happened over twenty years ago. Something that should have stayed buried.

‘Listen, my love. Your father was a big handsome man when he knew your mother. Really, he was like a big black Adonis if that’s possible!’ She smiled to take the edge off the words. ‘He was talented, really talented. Together they could have conquered the world. When I got rid of him, and I did get rid of him, make no mistake about that, it was because twenty years ago...’ Briony swallowed hard. ‘Well, you have to realise, it was in the twenties. Mixed marriages were unheard of then. It wasn’t like now when lots of girls marry their black GIs. It’s a different world now, love. Then it would have ruined your mother and him. A black man seen with a white woman could cause murder to be done.’

Liselle sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Your father looks like he does now because I sent someone to force him to leave. Well, the bloke, Kevin Carter, went too far. He broke his hands. I never asked him to, I take oath on that, Lissy. But I suppose that having his hands destroyed stopped Evander earning his living, doing what he did so well. He was a brilliant jazz pianist once, believe me, and I truly regret my part in putting an end to his career.’