The Dorans always stopped for two hours in the middle of the day and ate a large meal made from garden vegetables and meat butchered on a nearby farm. After a soup and a main course of beef cooked in a wine sauce, Paul and Rosie struggled through a fruit tart for dessert. Hugo barely touched the first two courses, reserving all of his available stomach space for afters.

‘I have some friends coming around to play cards this afternoon,’ Father Doran said, as he dabbed his shrivelled lips on a napkin. ‘So you three keep the noise down if you’re staying indoors.’

The three kids nodded as they left the table. Rosie went to the sink to help Yvette wash up, while Hugo followed Paul upstairs to the small bedroom shared by all of them. There was a double bed, in which Paul and Rosie slept, and two sofa cushions pushed together on the bare floor for Hugo, although he usually claimed to be scared of the dark and crawled up under the bedcovers to sleep between Rosie and Paul.

‘Do you want to play outside?’ Hugo asked, as Paul pulled a brown case out from beneath the bed.

‘I want to take another look at these papers,’ Paul said. ‘Dad was always moaning that he had a terrible memory. He must have written down contact details for Henderson somewhere.’

‘Please,’ Hugo whined.

‘You’ve just eaten half a tart,’ Paul said, as he flipped the suitcase open. ‘You’ll throw up if you start chasing around now.’

‘So boring,’ Hugo complained, as he slumped backwards on to the bed beside the case.

Paul perched on the edge of the bed and grabbed his father’s pocket book. He’d been through it a dozen times and could now remember the words and numbers before he came to them. Meanwhile, Hugo rummaged inside the case.

‘Don’t mess all the papers up,’ Paul warned, but he saw that Hugo had grabbed his father’s cigar tube. Mr Clarke always kept the fat tube case with compartments for six Cuban cigars in his briefcase so that he could offer them to clients. ‘Oh. You can play with that if you want,’ he added.

As Paul twisted his brains, trying to find something he’d previously missed in the pocket book, Hugo unscrewed the lid on the metal cigar case. He pulled out the largest of the wrapped cigars and placed it between his lips.

‘Look, Paul,’ Hugo grinned.

Paul tutted. ‘I’m trying to concentrate.’

‘Why can’t kids smoke?’ Hugo asked, as he blew imaginary smoke out of his lungs.

‘I don’t know.’ Paul shrugged. ‘It’s like, adults try to stop kids having all kinds of fun. Rosie lit up one of my dad’s cigars once for a dare. She puked everywhere and our mum whacked her on the bum with her hairbrush.’