‘Lads, lads,’ he said, his voice slow with alcohol. ‘Let’s all step back and take a minute, shall we?’

Sean was immovable, a solid six-foot wall of anger.

‘I’m warning you,’ he said, jabbing his finger at Alistair. ‘You stay away from her.’

Russ put a hand on each man’s shoulder.

‘Lads, we’re supposed to be on holiday, having a lovely jolly old time. Not doing handbags at ten paces.’ Almost to himself, he added: ‘However entertaining that might be to watch.’

Alistair turned away, slipping his glasses on.

‘Come on, boys, into the villa now I think.’

Jake and Ethan, already absorbed in their phones again, appeared not to hear him.

Chapter 58

58

Russ

Russ held the book in his hands, but he didn’t really need to: he had read The Tiger Who Came to Tea so many times he knew the words off by heart. He thought Odette probably did too, but she was finally drifting off now. It was her third Daddy story of the night and she was just about surrendering to sleep, her blinks getting longer and longer as he sat on the floor by her bed and turned the pages.

‘. . . He ate all the supper that was cooking in the saucepans,’ Russ read slowly, ‘all the food in the fridge, and all the packets and tins in the cupboard . . .’

Odette’s eyes were almost closed.

Russ stopped for a moment. Immediately, her eyes flickered half-open again as if to say finish the book, Daddy.

He smiled and continued reading, keeping his voice low and soft.

At the end of the story he sat with his daughter a moment, watching her breathe, feeling himself sobering up a little. Feeling the familiar pang of guilt because he liked this part of the day, he liked it when she went to sleep – but shouldn’t he prefer it when she was awake? Why couldn’t he be better with her during the day, more patient? Why couldn’t he make the most of spending quality time with his only child?

He resolved, as he always did, to do better tomorrow.

Kissing her gently on the forehead, he backed slowly out of the room and dimmed the light.

He went downstairs and grabbed a fresh bottle of Kronenbourg from the kitchen, dumped a large bag of tortilla chips into a bowl, and carried them both out towards the balcony.

‘Russ?’

He turned towards the voice, squinting into the shadows at the far end of the lounge. Alistair was there, sitting on his own, hunched in one of the big armchairs.

‘Hey, Alistair.’

‘Have you got a second?’

‘Sure.’ Russ walked over to him. ‘What’s up?’

‘About . . . what happened earlier. I just wanted to say thank you for stepping in.’

‘Oh, that?’ He shrugged. ‘No worries, it was nothing.’

Alistair circled a fingertip around the rim of his almost empty wine glass.