The two women talked about everyday things, with Shelby intentionally asking questions to bring Mackerel into the conversation. He, in turn, tried to bring Kane in. The boy was surly, didn’t want to be there, kept whining about the food, twitching unhappily. When Kane complained about the parsnip puree one too many times, Mackerel said, ‘I know what you mean. Mashed potatoes are one of the only things they give you to eat in jail. One time, one of my mates tried to snort some up his nose, just to prove it wasn’t really potatoes but powder mixed with water.’

‘Up his nose?’ said Kane. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Maybe don’t talk about prison at the table,’ said Fiona sternly.

Mackerel ignored her, seeing now the fire in Kane’s eyes. He knew Shelby was a great mum, but surely the kid also needed someone to meet him on his own level now and then? Especially if Mackerel was going to be living there.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And we had to have plastic forks, because if you have metal ones, you might use them to stab someone.’ He reached across and took Kane’s hand, using Kane’s fork to stab a carrot, a bean, a piece of meat.

Kane wryly watched him do it, rolled his eyes, then ate his forkful. ‘I’m not a kid. You don’t have to pretend the fork is an airplane.’ He swallowed. Then he said eagerly, ‘What else happens in jail?’

‘Well . . .’ began Mackerel slowly, ‘there’s fights all the time.’

‘I don’t think this is good for him to hear, Uncle Mackerel,’ said Fiona. ‘I mean, prison is the reason you’ve been away from your family this whole time, right? You’ve been locked up?’

Shelby didn’t say anything. Her eyes were on Mackerel’s whisky glass, which was empty. She leaned across and poured him some more.

‘Yeah, I was . . .’ said Mackerel forlornly, although in a way he was enjoying the glare that Fiona was giving him. ‘I deserved it . . . I deserved what I did. I sold drugs, which are bad for you. I used to sell the drugs to the drug dealers. They were bad people, but I’d get lots of money out of them. Like, millions of dollars.’

‘Really?’ said Kane, then caught himself. ‘That’s not impressive. Dad is . . . was a millionaire . . .’ His voice dropped off.

‘Enough, Mack,’ said Shelby, checking back into the conversation.

But he was on a roll now. ‘The hardest part about having so much money is finding someone who loves you for you, and not just all the money you have,’ said Mackerel sadly, watching Kane’s eyes grow interested again. ‘You know the singer from Pine and Ocean?’

‘Atlanta Parks?’ said Kane.