When they became aware of each other, there was immediate distrust on both parts, though the man had been more intrigued than the girl, almost feeling proud that his daughter had overcome the difficulties of having a lone parent in a rough part of the city. Lucy, in contrast, was overtly hostile to him, but, by necessity, a truce had eventually been reached, both parties understanding that if word ever got out that they were related to each other, their careers would both be damaged, if not ruined. Even now, only four people knew about it, as far as Lucy was aware: she and her mother, and McCracken and his second-in-command, a psychotic bruiser called Mick Shallicker.

The truce had held, even though they’d had dealings with each other several times since then, but increasingly, Lucy felt, her father was becoming lax in his efforts to keep things secret.

‘There was even a signed card with it,’ Cora added, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Just so there couldn’t be any mistake. The card was so big, it wouldn’t have gone through the letterbox.’ Her voice was almost wistful. ‘He not only signed it, he put fifty-five kisses on it.’ She glanced up, her expression suddenly hard. ‘So, go on … if you’re going to start shouting and bawling, let’s do it now and get it over with.’

‘What’s the point shouting?’ Lucy asked. ‘You didn’t give him any encouragement … I’m assuming?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’ Cora whipped her napkin off the table, a bit too aggressively, and arranged it on her lap. ‘But I’ve not needed to. It’s not like he’s come back into our lives through ordinary circumstances, is it?’

‘Well … not exactly ordinary.’

‘But through no fault of ours.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘And what are you trying to tell me … he likes what he sees?’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Mum!’ Lucy leaned forward, lowering her voice. ‘You’re in fab shape for your age, but he’s walking around with Supertramp on his arm. Or he was.’

Carlotta ‘Charlie’ Powell was Frank McCracken’s current squeeze, a Pamela Anderson lookalike, who had once been the most expensive hooker in Manchester.

‘I can’t explain his motivation,’ Cora said. ‘All I’m telling you is what’s happened.’

‘I take it you haven’t done anything daft in response … like sent him a thank-you note or something?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Not yet?’

‘Lucy … will you stop behaving as if you’re the mother and I’m the child?’ Cora said heatedly. ‘Or as if you have a monopoly on common sense?’

Lucy sat back again, feeling admonished.