He took a few deep breaths and looked around the room. It was cheap and shabby. This wasn’t luxury nursing. The bed had a rail to keep the patient from falling out, but the blankets looked thin. The paintings were the sorts of cheap prints you could buy in a pound shop. Other than a couple of ageing, dusty family photos, no personal touches adorned the surfaces. Jenson had effectively been ditched. It was as good a sentence as any court could have passed, if rather late in the day. Wandering over to the mess on the floor, Luc collected up the shards of vase and dumped them in the waste basket. He took a few paper towels from a dispenser on the wall and mopped up the water as best he could before some unsuspecting nurse walked in and slipped, then brushed off the cushion with his hand and tucked it into Jenson’s side.

Satisfied that the room was back in order, he took a pair of gloves from his pocket and a sterile bag. Standing over Bruce Jenson, he plucked one of the few remaining hairs from the man’s scalp, sealing it carefully into the bag to avoid contamination of DNA before stripping off the gloves and depositing them in the bin.

He accepted that it was beyond his power to punish this one of his mother’s attackers, but he needed to know if the man had fathered him. He’d spent a long time weighing up that particular decision, but even now he wasn’t prepared for how to face the outcome. If Jenson was his father, it would destroy everything he’d ever considered to be his identity. His mother was French and he’d grown up with her in France, never suspecting his time there would come to an end. His father, though, was a proud Scot. Born in Edinburgh, Luc could barely remember the first few years of his life. He recalled his dad as a warm, laughing man, who hugged often and hard, with huge hands and a quick smile. With his father gone too soon, his mother had struggled raising a young child alone and retreated to her family.

Luc checked the room once more to ensure he’d left it as tidy as possible, took a final look at the face of the man he would hate forever, and left. Passing by the nurses’ station, he paused and leaned over the desk.

‘I accidentally knocked a flower vase with my elbow,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry. Can I pay to replace it?’ He let his French accent rumble along the words, making eye contact with the nurse.

‘Oh no, don’t worry at all. These things happen. We have loads of vases in the storeroom. I’ll pop down and clean it up.’ She smiled sweetly, running a self-conscious hand over her hair as it escaped from her ponytail.