‘I levered the damned drawers open. Broke the locks, then had the thing repaired. You didn’t notice anything, did you. Didn’t even smell the fresh varnish in there. If you’re never going to be straight with me about anything, what else am I supposed to do but take things into my own hands?’

Charlie jumped to his feet and paced about. Then he rounded on her.

‘I’ve been straight with you. I’ve done fucking everything for you.’

‘Those two things ain’t the same, Charlie. You’re so used to doing hooky deals that you probably think they are, but they’re not. I’m not a child. I don’t need shielding from the world. So tell me – did you really get Harlan from the agency? That Mrs Bushell, was she really an official, or just one of the people on your payroll? Christ knows you’ve got plenty. And you got print men coming out of your arse, aintcha? Forging a few official-looking documents would be a piece of shit to them.’

‘Look . . .’ started Charlie.

‘Don’t bullshit me. I mean it: don’t.’ Nula was trembling with the force of her rage. He really was the lowest of the low. Egging her on so that she ‘partook’ in those wild parties, the dirty bastard. And then raping another woman – his best friend’s wife! There was nothing he wouldn’t sink to. Whenever Charlie tried to initiate sex with her these days – and thank God it wasn’t often – all she could think about was him forcing himself on Jill. ‘That weird little fucker tried to kill me. And now I want an explanation. I want the truth.’

Charlie was running his hands over his balding pate, over and over. He’d aged, she thought. But then – so had she. ‘Christ Almighty,’ he muttered.

‘There’s worse, Charlie,’ said Nula quietly.

‘Worse?’ He spun around, stared at her. ‘Jesus, Nules, ain’t we had enough shit to last a lifetime?’ He blinked and for a moment Nula could see that he was on the verge of tears. ‘Losing our boy that way? Little Jakey? And now you’ve got this rubbish in your head about Harlan . . .’

‘It ain’t rubbish. I spoke to Chrissy Foster . . .’

‘That bitch? We should never have left her in charge of our boy. Never.’

‘She woke up one night and Harlan was standing over her bed. He had a knife in his hand.’

That stopped Charlie in his tracks. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

‘I wish I was. I’m not. She said she thought there was something wrong with him. That he had . . .’ Nula frowned, groping in her memory. ‘She reckoned he had a thing called reactive attachment disorder.’

‘This is bollocks,’ said Charlie.

‘No! She was serious. And if you don’t believe her . . .’ Now Nula hesitated. The next part was terrifying.

‘What?’ prompted Charlie when Nula fell silent.