‘Every time I think of that picture of my Jessie I feel like screaming. And my mum’s dead, Declan – I know it’s true, but I just can’t take it in. She was struck down in her own home, on her own fucking doorstep. How the fuck can this have happened to me? It’s like a fucking living nightmare.’ He wanted to cry again. The absolute power of his emotions amazed him. ‘My old mum, for all her attitude, was always fucking good to me, Declan. She worked every hour God sent when I was a kid, and I never wanted for anything. She would have given me the food out of her mouth, I know that. I’ve always known that.’

Michael drove past Rainham Clocktower, and out towards the country lanes. They were nearly there now, and he could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.

‘My mum always said that Josephine was a selfish cunt, and she was right. I wouldn’t listen to her. When Josephine first started hoarding food, all those years ago, my mum said I needed to nip it in the bud. But I didn’t listen to her – I treated her like she was the fucking enemy. I just pretended that it wasn’t happening. But she was proved right. If I had put my foot down from the off, I know that all this shit with Josephine would never have got this far. I stood by as my wife gradually retired from real life. All that money I have shelled out on psychiatrists for her, and they say the same thing – it takes time. She is mentally ill! Well, fuck me, Declan, I don’t know about them, but I had already fucking worked that one out for myself. Hardly rocket science, is it? If it wasn’t for Dana, Jake would never leave the house. That great, big, expensive fucking house, situated in its own grounds, with its thirty-grand kitchen, and its two full-time gardeners, and my wife lives in two rooms and, it seems, can’t bring herself to make a phone call that might save her only daughter’s life. All that money I have weighed out to get her help, and she is still unable to open a letter or dial a fucking telephone. How fucking messed up is that? This new bloke she’s got on her case now – a right fucking arrogant cunt he is and all – is giving me lists of books I should be reading to acquaint myself with my wife’s condition. Well, I pointed out to him, in the nicest possible way, that I was paying him good money to do all of that for me, and there was an old saying: why have a fucking dog and bark your fucking self. I was very angry at the time, and I think he noticed that. Suffice to say, Declan, he soon got with the fucking project.’