Fundamentally, though, she wasn’t fulfilled. She was frustrated, mostly with him. And Jason had no idea what to do about it, other than what Karla had suggested: talk to her father about a business loan. He would probably choke before he got the words out.

Heading downstairs, Jason swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth. What irked him most about Fenton was that the man held himself up as some paragon of perfection: successful businessman, captain of the golf club, still married to the same woman after thirty-five years. It was bollocks. Fenton was a womaniser and a bully. Someone who would suggest to his daughter that she abort the child he knew she wanted wasn’t fit to be a father, as far as Jason was concerned. He’d never understood why he’d been so insistent she shouldn’t go through with the pregnancy. Even if Fenton hated his guts, which he obviously did, why would he try so hard to pressurise Karla, a grown woman capable of making her own decisions?

Suppressing his thoughts around that, because it wrenched his gut every time he considered the fact that his own daughter might never have been born, he poured away the hot chocolate he’d promised Josh he would finish and headed to the lounge for something stronger. He shouldn’t, but he needed it. He poured a large measure of whisky, knocked it back and poured another. He should have told Fenton what he thought of him when he’d cornered him at the party, and sod the consequences. He’d rather be seen as a failure than a ‘self-made man’ who thought his millions entitled him to treat people like shit.

Cautioning himself to make it his last, Jason topped up his glass and went back to the kitchen to turn off the lights. He picked up his phone and was heading back to the hall, supposing he should sleep in the spare room, rather than wake Karla, when he was reminded of an earlier text. From Mark, letting him know he’d made some headway on the software glitch they’d been struggling with.

Not there yet, the message read, but think I might have identified the problem. Working on it over the w/end. Meanwhile, Tinder calls. What do you reckon?

Jason opened the photo he’d attached, and very nearly choked as a woman who would definitely qualify as a blonde bombshell popped up – or rather, out. Wearing two wisps of lace, she was as underdressed as it was possible to get without being actually naked.

Jesus. Quashing down an undeniable stab of lust, Jason composed himself and texted back: Ten. Definitely.

Might be a bit late in tomorrow, Mark replied, including a thumbs-up emoji.

Lucky git. Has she got a sister? Jason typed.

I’ll ask.

Jason smiled ruefully. Fill me in tomorrow, he texted back. Cheers for your efforts, mate. I owe you.