‘Mum!’ It was him, coming across the hall, smiling. Harlan. He’d passed his seventeenth birthday and was growing into a smoothly handsome young man, one of those individuals who were always immaculate. He was wearing a white silk shirt, Harris tweed jacket, stylishly cut jeans and well-polished tan brogues. His honey-brown hair was brushed and gleaming, his face clean-shaven, his cool grey eyes alight with what seemed to be pleasure at seeing her. Or he’s faking it, she thought.

Nula felt a moment’s total panic. She repeated the mantra the psychologist had taught her at the clinic. What happened to your baby upset you, made you see and hear things that weren’t there. But you’re better now, and everything’s OK. Of course Harlan isn’t a threat to you. Not at all.

Somehow she got an answering smile plastered onto her face. ‘Harlan,’ she said, and didn’t shudder or shove him away when he came in close and hugged her. Then he hugged Charlie too.

Nula watched the two of them together and thought: Charlie’s committed to Harlan now. He’s completely invested in the devious little shit; he’s blanked Jake, his real son, his dead son, from his mind and locked him away in a box marked too painful to think about.

Terry put the bag down on the hall floor and said: ‘OK, Charlie, I’ll leave you to it,’ and he left, closing the front door behind him.

Charlie turned to his wife. He thought that she’d aged, the poor bitch. Worry had etched deep lines in her face. Her eyes were anxious.

‘Come on babes, let’s get you upstairs, get your stuff unpacked,’ he said.

‘I’ll bring the bag,’ said Harlan, reaching down to snatch it up.

‘No,’ said Charlie a shade too sharply. ‘I’ll take it.’

Despite her efforts, Charlie could see that Nula was rattled by the sight of her adopted son. Right then and there, he made a decision. Harlan was done with schooling now. He’d sort him out a place in town, get him started properly in the business, get him out of Nula’s way.

Beezer could keep an eye on him.

It would work out fine.

70

The days turned into months and things seemed just about normal for Nula. Well, as normal as they ever got, living with Charlie. As a treat, he took her out in the Bentley with Sammy, one of the new younger guys, at the wheel.

‘For a little surprise,’ he said.

Nula felt nervous as soon as she stood out on the drive. Sammy was there, sliding a mirrored stick under the car, moving it back and forth.

‘What’s he looking for?’ she asked Charlie, who was standing beside her, chatting to Terry.

‘Explosives,’ said Charlie, and resumed his conversation as if this was a normal thing for a person’s driver to do.