Tom is pricked by guilt. He knows he has been reckless. He hadn’t really thought about how it was affecting Clive and Derry. He hadn’t really cared, until now. ‘I’m sick with worry,’ Clive continues, a little tearful. He bites back a sob. ‘Derry wants to do one last round of IVF and I can barely afford to pay the gas bill, never mind fork out fifteen grand or whatever it costs now.’ Then, shifting tack and wiping his eyes: ‘We need to strategize. Make a plan. Did you look over the spreadsheets I sent you?’

Tom shakes his head. Of course he didn’t.

Clive sighs deeply. ‘We’ve got to pay the glass company by Tuesday. We don’t have anywhere near enough to cover the bill, and there isn’t time to get another bank loan.’ He pauses, hoping this sinks in to Tom’s thick head. ‘I’m going to put it all on my personal credit card. Just … don’t tell Derry, all right?’

Tom takes this in. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Well, what else do you propose? Unless you see a bank anywhere that we can rob? We’ve begged and borrowed from every possible source as it is.’ A pause. ‘Unless …’

‘Unless?’

Clive clicks his tongue against his teeth. ‘I just had a thought … perhaps you could persuade your father to dip into his pockets again. One last time.’

Tom recalls with a distinctly physical pain – a stabbing sensation just beneath his ribs – the last time he spoke with his father. It was the only time in his life he asked the man for money. Basecamp, the house that he had designed and built just a few hundred feet from where he sits, now lies in ruins after a horrific thunderstorm laid waste to the site. Lightning of biblical proportions. The river that Tom diverted had dispersed, and the rainfall made it swell, ruining the foundations of the house. Luckily, Granhus was shielded by the trees, losing no more than a few slates and panes of glass. Basecamp collapsed into mud.

And if that wasn’t enough, they still had to pay for the materials. They had to pay a contractor to come and clear up the mess. Clive acted quickly, bled the company dry to pay the invoices. But the workers’ salaries – they needed to be paid. Men had to feed their families, and they couldn’t wait until a business loan was approved. Tom had picked up the phone, called his mother.

‘What’s Dad’s number?’

She gave it to him. Warned him. Be careful what you ask.