He doesn’t understand why she’s looking at him like she is.

‘Where’s the money coming from, Jago?’

Her accusation hits him full on.

‘Is that why you’ve gone after their daughter? So you can steal from them? Pawn their stuff for a fistful of tenners to stick beneath the toaster?’

Her words slice him like razor blades.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Well?’

He blinks at her. Winded. ‘I didn’t—’

‘You lied to me. You told me you were working at the yard but you weren’t. You’ve never done a day there. But you give me cash. Jewellery goes missing from the Davenports. You’re seen hanging around the house exactly when it was taken.’ She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her voice drops. Her eyes close and she winces. ‘Did I ever send you to school in dirty or torn uniform? Without the right PE kit? You might not have had fancy trainers but I fed you well, cut your hair nice, polished your shoes every Sunday night so you wouldn’t look like the poor kids. I never took charity. I never broke the law. I worked any job I could find so we could hold our heads high when your dad died. And now this? Jago…? How could you?’

This hurts more than anything has hurt before, like a knife in his gut. ‘You think that little of me?’ he says at last.

‘What am I supposed to think?’

‘You’re supposed to know I’d never steal. You’re supposed to trust me.’

‘How can I trust you when you lie?’

He absorbs her disappointment. Her judgement. The look on her face that tells him she knows now she was always right about him. That he’ll never amount to anything. That he’ll shiver in his dead father’s shadow forever.

He turns his back on her and walks out of the house.

He parks his bike out of sight of the house and walks the last bit. When he gets to the gate he crouches to conceal himself behind the dry-stone wall. Then he watches. When he’s sure nobody is around, he keeps low to the ground and scoots around the side of the house. He peers around the corner carefully in case they are on the terrace, but the garden and pool are deserted.

He stands below her window. Bends. Picks up few pebbles from the earth in the flower bed then throws them one by one so they tap on the glass. Nothing. He bends for more. Prays she’s in her room. Throws another pebble.

Then her face appears at the glass. She looks down and sees him. Lifts up the latch and pushes the window open.

‘Front door,’ she whispers.