‘If there’s nothing else.’ He moves to stand up and when neither of us says anything he gets to his feet.

‘Thank you.’ I cross the room, my hand outstretched.

DS Forbes shakes it firmly, then holds out his hand to Mark.

‘Yes,’ Mark says. ‘Thank you.’

The tension in DS Forbes’s face softens as the two men shake hands. Sometimes I forget that there’s a regular bloke, probably with a wife and family, hidden behind the suit and the solemn expression. How did he feel as he walked up to our front door? Tired? Fed up? Bracing himself for an emotional outburst from one or both of us? I wonder where he’ll go after he’s said goodbye. Back to the station or to some other family? God knows how he does this job day after day.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he says.

Friday 16th January 2015

Jackdaw44: I miss what we had.

Jackdaw44: It’s not even about the sex.

Jackdaw44: What we had was special. You know that. I know that. You made the wrong choice. Deep down you know that.

Chapter 55

We watch from the kitchen window as DS Forbes gets into his car.

‘You need to sort things out with Stephen,’ I say as the black Volvo disappears down the street.

‘Why should I?’ Mark’s tone is defensive, but I can hear the pain behind it.

It’s a good question. I’ve been thinking about Stephen for days. I was so, so angry with him after I met him in the pub. I felt as though he was deliberately trying to destroy what little life I have left by getting his own back on Mark. Only he wasn’t, was he? Not completely. He was telling me things other people had kept from me. Wherever I look I unearth another lie or another secret and Stephen is one of the few people who’s been straight with me – or as straight as a broken drunk can be.

‘He’s your brother, Mark.’

‘Stepbrother.’

‘You used to be close.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘He needs you. And you need him.’

Mark yanks at the handle on the dishwasher door and pulls out the tray at the top. There’s a saucepan and baking tray jammed in with the mugs and glasses instead of down at the bottom where the jets are stronger.

‘Stephen’s in a bad place,’ I say. ‘He’s drinking too much. His marriage is on its last legs and he’s torn up about Billy.’

Mark hooks his thick fingers through the handles of several mugs and transfers them to the mug tree by the kettle.

‘I think he’d talk if you reached out to him.’

‘And why would I want to do that?’