‘We need to talk, Sally.’

‘I thought we did talk. I’ve made myself very clear. I’ve nothing more to say about it.’

‘What if I don’t have a choice?’

‘Why? Did she say that? Did the social worker say we don’t have a choice?’

‘No, but she did say the court will rule on it.’

The court? Oh my God, this could go to court.

‘Are you sure… Court… should we get a solicitor?’

One step, two steps. Tom is pacing the floor of the kitchen, one hand rubbing his hair the other clenched tightly against his chest.

‘Who was on the phone?’

‘Ah… just someone from work.’

Anger shoots through me like someone just opened a dam. Three steps and I’m standing right in front of him. My eyes staring him out. Tom flinches.

‘If you think I’m listening to one more of your bloody lies you can think again, who was on the phone?’

‘It was just—’

‘Give it to me.’

‘What?’ Tom’s eyes open wide, his eyelids flicker. I think he’s scared. I hope he is. Holding my hand out, I say, ‘Your phone, give it to me.’

He reaches for his back pocket and hands me the phone, dropping it into my hand likes it’s dirty before stepping back. Turning away from him, I scroll to the recent calls. Kenny’s Golf Supplies. His last phone call was to, Kenny’s Golf Supplies?

‘You were ordering fucking golf stuff in the middle of all this?’ I say, turning to look at him. His face turns from grey to a bright flushing red, this isn’t the case. It dawns on me. ‘Kenny’s Golf Supplies.’ A decoy, so I wouldn’t be suspicious if I saw the contact. Kenny’s Golf Supplies is Kenny.

‘You bastard,’ I say, realizing the contact Kenny’s Golf Supplies has been on Tom’s phone for sometime now. I remember it ringing when we were over at his mother’s house for dinner at Easter. The name came up on his phone and I joked about the shop ringing him on Easter Sunday. Tom had brushed it off, saying he was supposed to pick up prizes for the following week’s tournament but had forgotten. That was in March. Over six months ago.

Seething with anger and punctured by his lies, I throw the phone at Tom and walk out of the kitchen slamming the door behind me. Amber is standing at the top of the stairs. Her worried face is looking down at me.

‘What’s going on, Ma?’ she says, squashing a small cushion in her grip.

‘Nothing, Amber, myself and your father just had a little row but it’s sorted now.’

‘Are you okay?’ she says, stepping slowly down the stairs.