Bish had been a constable working behind the desk when Brackenham happened and they brought in the Sarraf family. The station had gone into lockdown because the crowd outside was baying for blood. His boss came to find him later that afternoon.

‘You’ve got a kid her age, haven’t you Bish? You’re going to have to go in there and take the little girl.’

When he went to remove Violette LeBrac from her mother’s arms, Jamal Sarraf cried. Her great-uncle Joseph Sarraf sat with his head in his hands. Her grandmother wailed. But Noor LeBrac was chillingly calm, all smiles, though a look of despair beyond reckoning was in her eyes.

‘It’s just a game,’ she whispered into her daughter’s ear, so close to Bish’s cheek that he felt the broken whisper of her voice for nights to come. ‘Daddy will be here soon and you’ll see it’s just a game.’

When news of Noor LeBrac’s confession came through six months later there was rejoicing at the station. And across the country. Louis Sarraf may have escaped punishment by blowing himself up, but justice had been served.

There was relief that the families of the dead would not be put through a trial. The country had moved on. A memorial hall was built on the Brackenham council estate where the supermarket once stood. It brought together a fractured community, and cultural diversity was once again celebrated rather than feared. There were music programs for youth, and concerts to showcase their talents. Occasional daycare for working parents. Weekly meetings about public policies that affected them; they were well attended, mostly for the suppers. PG Tips tea served alongside baklava and basbousa. The wounds had started to heal and no one wanted to look back.

Bish had looked back more than once. On the morning they buried his son he had the clearest memory of Noor LeBrac’s face the day he’d taken Violette from her. It reflected his own grief and hopelessness. Over time, only the blackouts from grog could make him forget that bleakness. Until a bomb went off on a bus carrying his daughter. Violette LeBrac Zidane was personal business for Bish. Removing her from the arms of her family had undone something in his psyche and he knew the only way to restore it was to return Violette.

The brutal bashing of two teenagers outside a Bristol skate park made news that Sunday afternoon. The girl was in serious condition with a punctured lung, the boy had had most of his teeth knocked out. Police in Bristol and Greater London made pleas to the social media sites that had been encouraging people to hunt for Violette and Eddie. It was the public’s responsibility to report any sightings, not take matters into their own hands.

Bee arrived to spend the night. The summer holidays were dragging on, as far as she was concerned. ‘All this sunshine,’ she complained, which Bish could relate to, and her friends at home were being cows and Rachel was in ‘baby la-la land’. When she went for a run he phoned Rachel just in case Bee had left without telling her.