‘Look, I don’t think it matters how it happened, or when it happened, or even that it was a complete bloody fluke it happened. What matters is that you had the guts to face up to your past when it shirt-fronted you, and I reckon that makes you a pretty good man. Better than most, actually.’

I was so shocked that, for a moment, all I could do was stare silently at Jaz. I wondered what she’d say if I told her to reverse up and take this baby for another spin around the North Circular. Use the fare to take her kids to Le Gavroche for lunch. It’d be worth every penny after what I’d just heard.

But then I looked out of the window at the familiar landscape of posh houses and neat gardens, and I knew it was time for me to go home. I hadn’t found Wolfie – I’d failed at that – but at least I could walk in a straight line, get that key in the door first try, and make my apologies like a good man. Better than most, apparently.

And if Wolfie still wasn’t home, then we’d work out something together. All of us. Something a bit more sensible than an impulsive plan to drive around London, not quite aimlessly, in a black cab. No offence to Jaz because, despite everything – abject failure, drunkenness, speed sobriety and suffering my hangover within a very concentrated period (do not recommend) – I’d had a pretty bloody lovely time actually. Most definitely worth – I did a quick mental recap – about a hundred and ninety-five pounds. Give or take the price of a few pints. I hadn’t realised I’d spoken aloud until Jaz swivelled back around and started the engine.

‘Yeah, me too. Best time I’ve ever had in this cab.’ She flicked the indicator and pulled out into the road. ‘With my clothes on anyway.’ When I snuck a look in the rear-view mirror, Jaz’s face was deadpan and I couldn’t help a bit of a chuckle at being outplayed at my own game. I kind of liked it.

‘Sixty-seven Glenmore Road please, my good woman.’

46

Wolfie

I feel a sudden loosening in my chest and throat, and I think how weird it is that this is who I’ve said it to. This guy.

I wait for him to speak. He finally drags his gaze away from the wall and looks at me.

‘It happens.’

It happens? I catch my breath, ready. But my chest is still. It happens.

‘What matters is she failed. Some mistakes are bigger than others, little wolf.’

He takes another drag on the bottle, and when he’s finished, he gestures around the riverbank. ‘Know what this place is called?’ He points to a pitted plaque on one of the pylons. ‘Blow-Up Bridge. Know why they call it that?’

I don’t, of course, but I don’t answer because I’m still thinking about what he’s just said and I already know he’s going to tell me.