‘After the Argonauts’ quest for the Golden Fleece, Jason he a marry barbarian princess called Medea and they move to Corinth in Greece, where he then a leave Medea for a royal princess, Glauce. Medea, she was a distraught and plotted her revenge . . . You want salt and vinegar, Sergeant?’

‘Just on the chips, please. So what did Medea do?’

‘She poisons Glauce and her father King Creon, then Jason confronts Medea, only to a discover she had stabbed their sons to death,’ he said, shaking salt and vinegar over the chips.

‘I can understand revenge against her husband and his mistress – but why did she murder the children?’

He put the fried cod on top of the chips.

‘Although Medea loved dem, for her it was the ultimate revenge. She fled a Corinth with the children’s corpses, mocking and gloating over Jason’s pain, then a leave a him a broken man.’

He wrapped the fish and chips up in the newspaper, put it in a brown paper bag and handed it to Jane.

‘Well, there’s a saying that “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”,’ Jane remarked, trying to hand him a pound note, which he waved away.

They argued good-naturedly for a minute, and eventually Fil let her pay fifty pence, but only if she let him give her something. He quickly went out the back while she kept an eye on the shop and returned with a book.

‘Plays by Euripides. You’ll find Medea in there.’

‘Thanks, Fil. Sounds like the perfect bedtime reading! I’ll bring it back when I’ve finished it.’

*

Once inside her flat Jane opened a bottle of white wine and poured herself a large glass, then sat down to eat her fish and chips at her small kitchen table. As she unwrapped the newspaper the aroma of the fish and acidic tang of the vinegar reminded her of days out at the seaside with her parents and sister when she was a girl. She smiled to herself, remembering sitting in the car at Brighton beach eating fish and chips with her fingers, while watching the waves break on the pebbles. She gently broke off a piece of the golden hot battered cod, blew on it a few times, then popped it in her mouth.

Delicious, she thought, realising for the first time just how hungry she was.

She was halfway through the large portion and beginning to feel full when the phone rang. Grabbing a tea towel, she wiped the grease from her hands and picked up the phone.

‘Jane Tennison. Who’s calling, please?’

‘Da da da . . . Da da da . . . Da da da da da . . . Shut it, son! . . . We’re the Sweeney and you’re nicked!’

She shook her head with a smile, recognising her sister Pam’s voice behind the crude attempt at The Sweeney theme tune.