‘Just some little bird,’ he said wearily. ‘I can’t even remember her name. She had a micro skirt on, plenty of perfume - Opium, I think - and loads of make-up. Her boatrace left a lot to be desired, but I’d had a drink.’ His voice was whining now.

‘Fucking hell, Cal, it’s not like it’s the first time, girl, is it? Why do we have to go through all this every time? I come home, don’t I? They’re just dogs. You’re me wife.’

Carol swallowed deeply. ‘You’re a piece of shite, Davey, do you know that?’

Smiling devilishly, he said, ‘So you keep telling me.’

As he walked out of the lounge doorway, a large terracotta plant pot hit him on the back of the head. It only grazed him, but he decided to play up to her.

Holding his head with both hands, he bent over, groaning.

‘Fuck you, Carol, that hurt!’

Jennie, pushing past her father, picked up her jacket from where it was hanging on the banisters and said gaily, ‘See you all later.’

As she opened the front door she stood stock still. ‘There’s a bird out here, Mum.’

Grinning at her father’s white face she tripped down the pathway back to school.

Pulling the door open properly with a meaty arm, Carol glared at the tall thin woman before her and snapped: ‘Yeah? What do you want? A bit off the beaten track here love, ain’t you?’

Bunty licked dry lips and said in her nasal tones, ‘May I speak to Mr Jackson, please?’

Davey, his face devoid of colour, stood behind his wife, slowly shaking his head as if to warn off the woman before him.

‘You’d better come in before the neighbours see you.’

‘Well, they must certainly have heard you, Carol. I heard you from the bottom of the road.’

She frowned. ‘What do you want, Bunty?’

‘I need to see Davey.’

His face was a picture and Carol, noticing this, said: ‘He looks a bit green round the gills because he’s just had a plant pot in the back of the head.’

Glancing at the dirt-covered carpet and broken plant pot, Bunty said sarcastically, ‘I never would have guessed.’

Underestimating Carol Jackson was her first big mistake of the day. Pointing a finger into the older woman’s face, Carol said nastily, ‘You know something, lady? You want to watch that big trap of yours before someone decides to fucking shut it for you - permanently!’

Davey pushed between the two women.

‘All right, Carol, go and make a cup of Rosie Lee.’ Steering Bunty into the lounge, he said, ‘Did your old man send you round here?’

Shutting the lounge door in Carol’s face he lowered his voice, praying in his heart of hearts that his wife wouldn’t insist on knowing what exactly was going on.

She knew too much already.