‘Crowley,’ I say. ‘You’re after making a bad mistake.’

This isn’t going the way Crowley expected, but he holds up well – after all, he’s still got the upper hand, whether I behave myself or not. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. If you don’t want to look like a bully in the eyes of the nation—’ Steve has fired up some game that’s a mixture of beeping noises and cherry bombs; Crowley twitches, but he manages to hang on to his train of moral outrage. ‘—then don’t try to bully the agents of free speech. It really is that simple.’

‘Nah nah nah. I’m not here about the photo. My problem is a guy who saw the photo. He rang you up looking for my address, and you gave it to him.’

‘Haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ Crowley says. He folds his pudgy little hands on the table and smirks at me. ‘How is your father, by the way?’

While I’m still being puzzled, Steve’s head snaps up and he lets out a great big snort of laughter. ‘He did not. Did he?’

Crowley’s eyes zip back and forth between us. The smirk’s fading. This is why I wanted Steve along: if I was here to beg Crowley to keep my deepest family secret just between us, I wouldn’t have brought company. ‘Who didn’t do what?’ I demand. ‘And you, where do you know my da from?’

‘Your man who rang you,’ Steve says, to Crowley. ‘He didn’t actually tell you he was Conway’s da. Did he?’

‘Ah, for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘Seriously?’

Steve starts to laugh properly. Crowley shoots him a poison look. ‘That’s what he said. He said he’d lost touch a long time back and wanted to reconnect.’

‘And you fell for it?’ I demand. ‘Just like that?’

‘He seemed legit. I didn’t see any reason to doubt him.’

‘You’re supposed to be a journalist,’ Steve points out, still grinning. ‘Doubt’s supposed to be your thing.’

‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘I don’t even like you, and I’m scarlet for you.’

‘You got played, man,’ Steve says, shaking his head and going back to his game. ‘Played like a pound-shop kazoo.’

‘Crowley,’ I say. ‘You’re a walking fucking lobotomy. The guy who rang you isn’t my da’ – Steve starts laughing again on that. ‘He’s a scumbag from up North who I helped put away for a few years, and when he saw that photo it occurred to him that this was his big chance to get his own back. And you gave him my fucking home address.’

A lot of the air goes out of Crowley.

‘He’s been casing my gaff ever since,’ I say, ‘and last night I found him in my sitting room. You figure he was just there for the chats?’