Briony stared at him. He was like a caricature of the man she’d known. Every time she saw his hands, she felt a flush of shame.

Making a decision, she stood up. ‘Is there a phone here?’

Evander pointed to the hallway. ‘Out there.’

‘I’ll phone up Tommy. He can take me, Kerry and Evander back to my place. You two can do what you like with these. They’re pieces of shite and I don’t care what happens to them.’

Going to Skip, she lifted his face towards her with one perfectly manicured finger. Looking into his eyes, she said, ‘You made your big mistake when you touched my sister. No one, I don’t care who they’re related to, ever touches me or mine.’

Walking outside to the hall to telephone Tommy, it occurred to her that phoning him this way was just like old times.

It seemed the past was always there like a spectre, waiting to rise up and catch you unawares when you least expected it.

In the end Tommy had stayed to help dispose of the three Americans under fifty tons of concrete that was due to be poured into the footings of the new Ford plant at Dagenham. Briony drove back to her house with a frightened Evander, his few belongings, and a shocked and subdued Kerry. When they got to Briony’s house, Liselle had already gone up to bed and Briony was secretly grateful for this. It was four-thirty in the morning. The three new arrivals were wide awake, and quiet. Too quiet.

Kerry helped herself to a large neat vodka and Briony poured herself and Evander large brandies. She surveyed the man in front of her for a good while.

Evander looked like a beaten man, but Briony guessed he had looked like that for a long time. It was in his eyes, his stance, in those clawed and deformed hands that had trouble holding on to the balloon-shaped glass.

Finishing her drink silently, Briony took Kerry and tucked her up in bed. She had no fears about Evander running off, he would be easy enough to find. Kevin’s overenthusiasm all those years ago would guarantee that.

She checked Kerry’s face over and, satisfied it was just cuts and bruises, went back down to the room where she had left Evander. Pouring them both another drink, his in a tall tumbler this time, she sat opposite him and spoke.

‘You realise those men are dead, don’t you?’

Her matter-of-fact voice frightened Evander. She had changed, this Briony. He remembered her as softer, younger admittedly, but softer inside.

He nodded in answer to her question and Briony sighed loudly.