‘Can’t a father come to the restaurant where his son is the chef?’ He sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his broad chest. ‘Good work, son. I enjoyed it.’

Theo blinks, unsure if he’s heard correctly. ‘It’s just I’ve worked here for two years and this is the first time –’

‘I wanted to see it for myself,’ he says, looking around. ‘Very nice.’ He has a rictus grin on his face. Theo knows it’s not fancy enough for his father so why is he even pretending? Why has he really come?

Theo shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I’m, well, I’m glad you like it, but I need to get back to the kitchen now.’

His dad nods. The harsh restaurant lighting makes him look sallower than normal. Just as Theo is about to walk back to the kitchen he says, ‘I did love your mother, you know.’

Theo stops, his heart thudding.

‘I know you think I didn’t.’

‘I’ve never said that,’ Theo says, flummoxed.

‘I wasn’t always the best husband.’ His shoulders are set back, rigid. ‘I know my faults. But I would never have hurt her.’

Theo remembers the bruises his mother tried to hide and knows his dad is talking utter bollocks about hurting her. He wonders if he really believes what he’s saying. Has he rewritten history in his own mind as a way to live with the terrible things he’s done? Or maybe he did love her, in his own warped way.

‘Her death was an accident.’

Theo goes cold. His dad knows. He knows he’s been in his study. He’s found the unlocked cupboard. Why else would he be here now talking about his mum?

‘And Cynthia Parsons?’ It’s out before Theo has even registered what he’s saying. He flinches. He shouldn’t have brought that up here. He’s at work. This is too big a conversation to be having on a five-minute break.

The colour drains from his father’s face. ‘What do you know about Cynthia Parsons?’

‘I know she made a complaint against you,’ says Theo, his voice low so as not to alert the other customers. It must be an odd sight, him in his white chef’s coat talking so intently to an old man. The other customers will think his father is making a complaint. It could look bad.

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Sexual assault,’ Theo spits, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice.

‘You know nothing about it,’ his dad growls. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you come to me in future, rather than sneaking around behind my back.’