Heath screwed up his face, screaming, turning away from the window as Lewis started the car’s engine and drove off. ‘Will you give me some credit? Just this once, will you admit I’ve done well? And don’t talk about that man. He brought nothing but stress and destruction into my life. The bastard! I fucking hate him. Focus on my accomplishments for once. Come and look before they leave the street.’ He dropped his chin to his chest. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, they’re out of sight. You’re my mother. Is a bit of support too much to ask for?’

Her image drifted towards the window in his mind’s-eye. ‘Credit? Is that some kind of joke? You can’t even be sure the woman’s been arrested. She could simply be helping the police with their enquiries as a witness. Or they could be updating her on the case. She is the brat’s mother, after all. They could be telling her they’ve got a suspect. They could be talking about you, Henry. Have you considered that very real possibility? I’ve told you to move the brat. Either that or kill her and be done with it once and for all. Maybe next time there’s a police car in our street, they’ll be coming for you.’

‘I used an old phone. I bought a sim card for cash, and well away from here. I used it once, only once before binning it at the other end of town. There is no way they can find out I made that call.’

‘Are you sure, Henry? Maybe they’re cleverer than you think. Are you really sure?’

He continued the one-sided conversation, snarling his words as he tore the sheets from the bed, flinging them to the floor followed by the pillows. ‘Yes, I’m sure, I couldn’t be surer.’

‘What on earth are you doing now, you ridiculous boy?’

Heath bared his teeth, snarling, as he gathered the bedclothes together, rushing towards the stairs, loathing the feel of the material on his skin. He was breathing through his mouth for fear of smelling his father’s scent. ‘You have ruined this morning for me, Mother. It should have been a triumph, my moment in the sun. But no, you had to mention that poisonous man.’

‘He’s still your father, Henry. You can’t change that fact, whatever you think of him. The facts are the facts. It’s simple biology.’

Heath descended the staircase at speed, two or three steps at a time. ‘Do you remember what he did to me? Don’t you think I’d forget the utterly odious bastard if I could? He’s a stain on my life, and I loathe his memory.’

‘Such a silly fuss about nothing.’

Heath took a three-quarter full bottle of turps from a kitchen cupboard and searched for the matches. ‘I was six, Mother, just six years old. I tried to tell you what he’d done at the time. But you closed your ears to me. You wouldn’t listen to a single word I said. If you had listened, it might have changed everything. It may have set me on a different path. Perhaps I wouldn’t have murdered your baby daughter. Have you thought about that? Maybe I wouldn’t have become the man I am.’