‘Oh?’ Angel’s face clouded. She didn’t want to hear about Lenny. All that was over. Dead to her.

‘He wishes you’d get in touch. He understands that you’re pissed off with him, but he’d like to hear from you. And the trial’s coming up soon.’

Angel nodded. She’d already been called in and questioned, intensively. It was a very scary experience. She reckoned she’d been lucky to get away with no charges against her at all. Lenny could have dragged her down with him, and it was only good luck and her cheerful ignorance of his wrongdoings that had kept her out of it.

‘Well he can like on,’ said Angel. ‘He lied to me, Tom. About everything. The money and the women. Everything. I suppose you knew about this “Letitia” person, did you? I suppose you were all having a great laugh at my expense?’

‘Letitia?’ Tom blew out his cheeks. ‘She’s an old whore bag. Well no, she’s not, actually, that’s an insult to working girls everywhere. Letitia gives it away for free. Particularly to Lenny. She’s always been mad over him, she threw a fit when he married you, and she’s been angling to get him back ever since.’ Tom looked shame-faced then. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you must know. I did try to warn you. Subtly. Once or twice.’

Angel let out a weary sigh and shook her head. ‘Ah, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except Lenny’s. He cheated on me with women and he cheated on me over the cash he was hauling in, telling me it was all legit when it bloody wasn’t. Tom – why the hell would I want to speak to him, after that?’

Tom spread his hands. ‘I know. You’ve got a point.’

‘You’ve told him I’m living with you,’ said Angel.

‘How’d you know that?’

‘He sent me another VO the other day, it came to your place. I ripped it up.’

‘I feel sorry for him, that’s all. He phoned me here at the club. Asked where you were. I shouldn’t have told him.’

Angel stood up. ‘No, you shouldn’t. Look – if you feel so damned sorry for him, Tom, then you go and visit him, because I’m not. The divorce is going through, and that’s the end of it.’

This was getting to be a habit, thought Angel in irritation as she came through the flat’s front door next day and found someone else standing in Tom’s kitchen. It was a middle-aged woman, skinny and with frazzled reddish hair, and when she turned to look at Angel she limped slightly. Angel’s heart sank as she realized it was the other woman from Mum’s funeral. Her Aunt June.

‘Oh – hello,’ said June.

‘Hello,’ said Angel, taking off her coat. She felt irritable, wrong-footed. ‘What, has everyone got a key to this door then?’

Two hectic spots of colour appeared on June’s cheeks. ‘I just came over to do a bit of cleaning for Tom, that’s all. And of course we all have keys to each other’s houses. We’re family.’