‘Because he’s a problem neighbour, Mum, a busybody, a troublemaker who delights in complaining about every little thing. That Denny’s football comes over his fence, or that our tree blocks his light, no matter how many times we prune it back. Whatever we do is never good enough, because that’s the kind of man he is.’

‘I’m sure you have him all wrong. We had a lovely chat.’

‘Mum, I forbid you to talk to him.’ God knows what personal details Ursula had told Stuart Nelson over tea and biscuits. ‘Please don’t speak to him again.’

‘I’m not sure I like being told what to do in my own home.’

‘Ah!’ Sasha wagged a finger. ‘But this isn’t your own home, is it? And are you ever going to tell me why you’ve left Dad?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Believe me, I do.’

Ursula thought about it. ‘He’s having an affair.’

‘Shut the f… ront door!’ blurted out Sasha, because her mother didn’t like it when she swore. ‘Dad wouldn’t do that.’

‘Nobody knows what that man is like.’

Sasha waved her off. ‘Not Dad.’

Ursula pursed her lips. ‘There are things I could tell you about your father that would make your hair curl. He’s got up to all sorts in his time.’

This wasn’t a conversation Sasha relished having, not this late, not after a long, stressful day. Basically not ever. ‘I’ll go and see him tomorrow. We’ll get it sorted, we’ll get you home.’

‘I’m not sure I want to. I’m going to bed.’

Sasha pointed at the pocket of Ursula’s apron, where Denny’s phone continued to blast out noise. ‘In which case, you may want to turn that off.’

Surprised, Ursula took it out and turned it over in her hands, trying to work out how to switch it off, until Sasha took pity on her and powered it down.

‘By the way, Angel doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow.’

‘What’s wrong, is she ill?’

‘You’re the detective,’ said Ursula tersely as she left, ‘you ask her.’

‘Welcome home, Sasha!’ she muttered to herself as she trudged back upstairs.

Knocking on her daughter’s door, she heard a whimper in response, which loosely translated meant she was allowed to enter.

Before she was even inside, Angel said, ‘I’m not feeling well. I’ve got a fever.’

Sasha sat on the edge of the bed and felt her forehead, which was slightly clammy. But it was stuffy in the bedroom, all the windows were closed. ‘You look okay, sweetheart.’

‘I’m not, I’m really not, I feel like I’m burning up.’ Angel spoke with an exaggerated gruffness. ‘I’m dizzy, and I’ve got the squirts.’

‘Then maybe you should stay at home tomorrow.’