‘Tell you what, I’ll get along there today and suss out the lie of the land. Drop some hints, see if we could get a couple of gigs on the go, eh? Mention your name. You give me – have you got one of those mobile-phone thingies? Lost mine at the border but if I take your number I can give you a call from a box.’

He grabbed a napkin, pushed it over to her, fumbled in his coat for a pen. A waiter was passing and he snapped his fingers.

‘Here! Here! Excuse me! Hello. Could you let me use your pen there? Just for a second. Just to get the girl writing down her number for her old dad. Eh? Thank you.’

She bent over the napkin, and he flushed, warm again with the success of it. This was going pretty well, after all.

SAMMI

Brixton, 2009

A picture of a middle-aged man, grainy, profiled, taken in bad light. A moustache, a tuxedo, a champagne flute.

SAMMI MY FIREND TOOK THIS ON HIS PHONE IS THIS MARK CARR????!!!!

She’d waited a bit, before replying. Thought it through.

Brixton, 1996

Mark had woken her and pulled her out of bed in the middle of the night, taken her up to the roof, even though she’d protested that she didn’t want to climb the ladder (her pregnant brain had made her risk-averse and paranoid). He wrapped a blanket round her and held her there, in the street light. His breath smelled rough and he had tears in his eyes.

‘This is – I can’t – it’s not—’

‘What’s wrong, baby? What is it?’ She’d stroked his arm, sleepily.

‘It’s not what I want, Sammi. This is not what I want to happen.’

‘What’s not?’

‘I’ve got to go away, princess. I’ve got to leave here right away. I’m running. Tonight.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Running. An old – an old comrade from back in the day just tipped me off. I’ve been made. For some stuff I did a long while back. A long while before you, sweetheart. So don’t worry. You’re not implicated or anything. They’re coming for me, though, so I’ve got to go. I think I might actually have to get out of the country.’

She wondered vaguely if she was still dreaming.

‘OK. Should we pack just now, or will it wait till the morning?’

‘No no no, princess. Not you. You’ve got to stay here and look after the baby. It’s just me. I don’t want to risk anything happening to you, or you getting tarred by association with me.’

‘You’re – leaving?’ She felt helpless and stupid and female saying it.