I sent out a pile of invoices, then tidied some shelves and catalogued our supplies of paper and calf while Penny worked on a set of leather display boxes for a local jeweller. We listened to the radio news and learned that last night’s rioters had been surrounded and overpowered by large numbers of police. Several arrests had been made. During the unrest extensive damage had been done to shops and homes and cars on and near the Ullswater estate. There was still a heavy police presence in the area and for the time being the streets were quiet. Thunderstorms were forecast, although when Penny and I sat outside in our lunch break the sky’s dirty blue-grey haze was unbroken by cloud.

Throughout the heatwave Evelyn had been putting Cassie to bed for the hottest part of the afternoon and letting her stay up later in the evenings. Today she slept until past four o’clock, and Penny and I heard her irritably wailing when Evelyn finally brought her downstairs again. When the end of the day came I went across the yard to look in at the house and found her in her wet red starfish-patterned swimsuit, standing up on a chair to sail toy boats in the sink full of water. ‘See, ships,’ she shouted to me. Waves slopped over the draining board and ran into the puddles already covering the floor.

Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table, her hair knotted away from her pale, glistening face. She looked tired and peevish. ‘Hasn’t Penny finished yet?’ she asked me.

I knew Penny wanted to glue the leather on the last of the boxes so it could dry overnight. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

‘Sadie, d’you mind just keeping your eye on Cassie for a minute? I want to make a phone call and have a fag in peace. She’s been a nightmare all afternoon.’

I had promised to meet Paul at Turnmill Street straight after work, but it wouldn’t matter if I was a few minutes late. ‘Sure.’ I stood at the sink beside Cassie.

Her corkscrew curls were damp and her fat little arms and hands shone with water droplets. She plunged a plastic mug in among the boats and another wave splashed over us both. My sandals squelched in the puddles. ‘This your ship,’ she told me, handing me a wooden yacht with a sodden triangle of sail.

‘Thank you. It’s a beauty.’

We sent the boats gliding across the tiny lake. She was leaning so far forward that I hooked my fingers under the slippery straps of her swimsuit in case she toppled head first into the water. The skin between the tiny wings of her shoulder blades was warm and furred with the faintest trace of downy hair.

After about fifteen minutes Evelyn wandered back again. She was still holding the telephone handset and a pack of cigarettes.

‘Eve, I’ve really got to go,’ I said.