Connie gritted her teeth. How was this fair? Kenneth had stolen his money, yet here he was acting holier than thou over an honest loan to her father.

She stepped forward, hoping her presence would shame him, but Kenneth took no notice. Trying not to show her emotions, she sat on the arm of her father’s chair. Her heart twisted hearing how politely and respectfully he spoke. She was sure Kenneth must have a whole stash of money hidden somewhere.

After he’d gone, she asked her father why Kenneth wouldn’t help.

‘He has his own problems.’

‘With money? I don’t believe it.’

Her father shrugged, reluctant to speak.

‘You don’t need to protect me, Dad. I know what he’s like. Everyone does. He’s a crook, a villain. I won’t be shocked.’

‘I know that, Connie. But you have enough to think about without worrying about this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Working at the bookshop, looking after the flat. Looking after me.’

‘You know I don’t mind any of that.’

‘Well, I do. You should be out there enjoying life like other girls your age, finding yourself a young man.’

She dropped her gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter. Tell me about Kenneth.’

He shook his head.

‘Dad, please. I’m old enough now. We’re a team, aren’t we?’

He sighed. ‘Of course.’ He took off his glasses and looked at her fondly.

He was so tired, Connie thought, so fed up with life. She was supposed to lift his mood. It was what she’d tried to do since her mother had gone, but instead of getting happier as time passed, he seemed more miserable than ever.

She regretted pressing him about Kenneth and whatever his problems were, but he told her anyway.

‘It’s Frank Dennis.’

She frowned. ‘Who?’ The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d heard it.

‘One of Kenneth’s old gang members,’ said her father, producing a handkerchief and polishing the lenses of his glasses. ‘The one who supposedly . . .’ He stopped, perched the glasses back on his nose. ‘Anyway, he’s out of prison.’

Now Connie remembered. Her father was talking about the last job Kenneth had been involved in, an armed robbery in a bank that had ended badly, with one man – a security guard – attacked and left for dead, and Kenneth and his two cronies in prison. Kenneth was already out, of course, and ostensibly on the straight and narrow. Another of the convicted men had died in prison – a suicide, they said. But Frank Dennis was the one accused of assaulting the guard and he’d been given the longest sentence. Only there had recently been an appeal on some technicality or other and he’d finally been released.

‘Why’s that a problem for Kenneth?’ asked Connie.

‘I don’t know for certain . . . but some of the money from the robbery was never recovered by the police.’