‘I just need a minute.’ Seeing Danny would be like seeing a ghost. She needed to prepare herself. ‘I’d hoped he was dead,’ she said circling the kitchen. ‘It seemed like the only explanation. One day he’s here terrorizing me, telling me I wouldn’t be allowed to live without him, and the next he’s gone. I thought he must be dead. I even thought his da might have killed him and maybe he was under his ma’s patio or under that fuckin’ bird-shit Virgin Mary shrine she has in her garden. I hoped he was dead.’ She was speaking quickly, and with every word her pace increased until she was almost jogging.

Fred grabbed her and held her still. ‘He’s not gonna hurt you, Mai. You’re not alone.’

‘The thing about Danny is he’ll do what he wants.’

‘I have this under control.’

‘I don’t want Valerie seein’ him.’ I can’t let her see him, not like this. She’s not ready.

‘I agree.’

She sighed. Just breathe. Fred let her go and she moved to the kitchen door. ‘She’s in her room, Fred. Please make sure she stays there.’

‘I will.’

She walked to the front door slowly, carefully, as though she was moving across treacherous ground. She could feel Fred behind her, propelling her forward. She knew he was standing guard at Valerie’s room. She put her hand on the lock and turned it. She felt the cold air hit her face and did her best to ignore the pain in her eye as she stood facing Danny for a long three seconds. She took in his weight gain, the second chin he’d developed since they’d last seen one another. His grey hair was alarming. It aged him significantly, as did the stupid moustache, which had never suited him in the first place.

‘Long time,’ he said, looking her up and down.

‘Not long enough.’

‘Yeah, well, ya went and lost me son so that’s on you.’

‘What do you want, Danny?’

‘To find me son, even if he is a fuckin’ fruit. Thanks for that by the way.’

‘He’s not—’

‘Livin’ with two women, what d’ya expect?’

She gulped.

‘It was only a matter of time before it all fell apart, wasn’t it, Maisie?’

‘Good luck with your search.’ She moved to close the door.

‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare,’ he growled. ‘I want to see my little girl.’

‘No.’

‘You don’t say no to me.’

‘Yes, I do. No. No. No. No. No.’ She could see the curtains twitching. She was grateful the last of the journalists had gone home. They would have had a field day with this: Wife-beater Comes Home to Settle Scores in the Driveway. Or maybe they’d paint him as the victim: Concerned Father Returns to Find Missing Boy: Door Slammed in His Face.