‘That’s all you’ve got?’ she said. ‘The fact that he’s Algerian? Would he be a suspect if his name were John Smith and not Ahmed Khateb? Would a German bus driver arguing with a Spaniard be a suspect?’

‘He was caught on CCTV arguing with your daughter and now he’s disappeared. That’s why he’s a suspect.’ Bish handed her a photograph of Khateb. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

She shook her head in disgust. ‘I married an Australian whose mother is Algerian and you think I’m going to know every one of her countrymen? You people are so ignorant.’

He counted to three, to stop himself from telling her to fuck off. ‘Just look at it, please!’

She looked at it again and pushed it away. ‘Yes. The spitting image of the Algerian spice man at our Saturday markets. Has to be him.’

Bish’s hand snaked out to grip her wrist across the table, dragging her closer. ‘A bit of fucking humility would work a charm here.’

‘I don’t do humility,’ she said, pulling free of him. ‘Because I’ve met very few people in the past thirteen years who have humbled me.’ She stood up. ‘And I won’t tolerate the profanities.’

‘You’re in a fucking jail, Noor. You take whatever is dished out to you. Including profanities.’

‘I think we’re finished here,’ she said.

‘Off you go, then. Let someone else take care of your kids. You should be used to it by now.’ He stumbled out of his chair.

‘You’re going to faint,’ he heard her say.

‘I’m not prone to fainting.’

He came to lying on the floor with his feet up on something soft. Her face was the first thing he saw. During his sleepless moments deep in the night he often thought of it. The freckle on her bottom lip. What he’d like to do with it. And here he was laid out on the ground like a pathetic drunk at her feet. His humiliation could get no worse.

Gray was beside LeBrac. ‘Keep the icepack on the bump and don’t let him fall asleep. His mother’s coming to collect him,’ he said before disappearing from view.

Yet there it was. A further descent.

‘I black out for a minute and they call my next of kin? Haven’t they got better things to do?’

‘You’ve been out for longer than that,’ Noor said. ‘The nurse has been and gone. Gray’s not happy about the paperwork.’

She moved the icepack on his temple and he flinched, grabbing for her hand to shift it.

‘You hit your head on the table on the way down,’ she said, and her voice was almost gentle. ‘And they didn’t call your mother, they called the Home Secretary’s office. The ubiquitous Samuel Grazier called your mother and your mother called here.’

His head made it hard to think clearly. ‘You know Grazier?’

‘Intriguing woman, your mother,’ she said, ignoring his question.

Bish tried to sit up too quickly. She pointed back to the floor. ‘You’re going to faint again. Try to believe me this time.’