He walked back to his car, smoking another cigarette as he went. He had arranged for the men to visit Lucy and Chris on Friday evening. He knew they never went out on Fridays. They hardly ever went out, full stop. There had been that time that he and Kirsty had seen them at the restaurant when, he was convinced, Lucy had somehow tampered with their food while he was in the kitchen. Otherwise, they seemed to stay in every night. Boring, stay-at-home psychopaths. It was almost funny.

Back at the flat, he checked the answerphone, hoping that Kirsty might have called. She had called just once since leaving, to let him know that she was at her parents and that she was safe. It was a tense, brief phone call. He could hear her parents talking in the background, speaking loudly, saying things about him. He didn’t know if Kirsty would tell them the whole story – he doubted it, as she wouldn’t want her parents to become involved – but no doubt they would blame Jamie for her miscarriage. They had never got on with him. Going away to Gretna Green to get married had been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

He sat on the sofa and thought about what he had done; the wheels he had set in motion. Had he done the right thing? He couldn’t think straight. His head was too full of images of pain and violence; pain and regret; pain and sorrow. Yes, it had to be the right thing to do. Kirsty would be so pleased to hear about it. Her face would light up with joy as he told her the good news: that the Newtons weren’t going to bother them any more. She would run back to him, throw her arms around him, cover him with kisses. He couldn’t wait.

Yes, it was the right thing to do. And anyway, the wheels were in motion now. It was too late to change things.

Chapter Twenty-six

Twenty-six

He waited for Friday with a boulder of dread and excitement in his stomach. The men whose names he did not know were due to turn up at eight. He would see their car pull up out the front; he would watch as they went down the steps to the basement flat; he would listen as they knocked at the door; he would hear what happened next.

He thought about going out to the pub. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the violence. He wondered if there would be screams, shouts for mercy. He didn’t know if he would be able to stomach it. Maybe it would be best to go and hide somewhere for a few hours, try to forget it was happening, and then when he came back it would be all over.