‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘It’s not really a funny story,’ he said, his voice suddenly serious. ‘At least it wasn’t at the time.’

‘Why not?’

He paused again.

‘Are you sure you want to know? Don’t think it’ll work very well in a party speech.’

‘I’m just gathering everything I can find, Mark, then I’m going to use the best bits and edit out the rest. Any embarrassing stuff I’ll just leave out.’

‘You’ll probably want to leave this out.’

‘No problem. It’s just useful to know, for background.’

‘Just for background?’

‘Sure.’

‘OK then. It’s your party.’

And then he told me.

Chapter 76

76

The pull of London was strong, like a gravitational force that was impossible to resist. It was the centre of everything. My family. My home. My fate. Exhaustion caught up to me and I dozed for twenty minutes as we neared the capital, strange half dreams flickering behind my eyelids. Images and faces. Just fragments. William in his school uniform. Beth passed out on her couch. Ben snarling, sneering in my face, fist raised. Mel in our kitchen, topless, one arm under her breasts, smiling for a selfie –

I jerked awake as the train rattled over points coming into King’s Cross, my whole body jumping like I’d touched a live wire. An elderly man across the carriage looked away nervously. Mel. A picture in our kitchen. A topless selfie for the other man in her life.

Suddenly I knew why the picture had bothered me.

The iPhone vibrated in my hand: a text from a number I didn’t recognise.

Hi Joe, here’s your repeat booking www.vipescortservices/33605 or you and your wife might like to meet www.vipescortservices/33699 or www.vipescortservices/33681. Let me know. We have someone for everyone Lorna xx

2.08 p.m.

Lorna from VIP Escort Services. I had spoken to her after finding the number in Mel’s secret mobile phone. I clicked on the first link and waited as the phone switched to the internet browser. It seemed to take an age for the page to load.

The train slowed and finally pulled to a halt. Still the screen was blank, the loading icon whirring at the top of the screen. I waited a moment, expecting it to appear, then got off the train and started walking up the platform amongst a stream of passengers, head down, keeping one eye on the phone as I headed for the ticket barrier. Fumbling in my pocket for my ticket, I passed through the barrier and onto the main concourse, the latticework atrium arching high overhead. Still a blank screen on my phone. It was early afternoon on Friday, before the main commuter rush hour, but the station was already busy with workers getting off early and visitors arriving for the weekend.