What reputation is that? the angry part of my mind asks. Her reputation as the goody-two-shoes, high-flying golden girl? All those tributes at the funeral? Are they lies? What do I really know about Clare? Did I just buy my parents doting view of her? I feel sick.

Then, to Marilyn I say, ‘How could she let herself be seduced by him?’

‘Young woman, powerful man.’ Marilyn shrugs. ‘Happens all the time. Even to the good girls.’

‘Not to Clare.’

‘Except you have evidence to the contrary. Unless you believe in immaculate conception.’

Marilyn can see she’s gone too far and tries to pull my hand from my pocket to make up for it, but I draw away like a sulky teen. Suddenly I’m hissing viciously at her, ‘You don’t know anything about her.’

Marilyn flinches but stands her ground. She won’t be cowed by anyone, and she can’t hide the disgust and pity in her expression. She can’t see I need a fight, to release my anger, at Kendall, at my sister.

Her silence is the perfect rejoinder: You don’t know anything about her. And nor did I.

‘I’m not sure I’m the help you need,’ she says at last. ‘Maybe you should talk to a professional, a counsellor or something.’ She puts her hands up in front of her chest, as if to protect herself. ‘I care about you, Gil, I really do. But I am way out of my depth. What I do know is this: if you go charging around like a wounded dog, someone will get hurt.’

So long as it’s Kendall, I think. And then there’s the unmistakeable voice I hear everywhere these days. ‘’Allo, ’allo. What’s going on ’ere?’

Marilyn and I both spin around. Todd, grin switched on, is striding towards us from one of the flats. He walks with purpose, gaze fixed on the horizon, as though being filmed for a party political broadcast. His over-polished black Oxfords skirt the litter and poo as though protected by a force field.

‘Hi, hi, hi. Wasn’t expecting you here, Gil.’ He gives Marilyn an irked look. ‘This isn’t really a press thing.’

‘Gil wanted to talk to me about a sensitive story,’ Marilyn butts in.

‘Sorry,’ Johnny says. ‘I was being neurotic. Pressure of the election. Coming here is a thing I do, and I’ve managed to keep it out of the press for years.’

‘You sound dodgy,’ says Marilyn. ‘Tell him.’

Johnny looks embarrassed, and uncomfortable. Not something I’ve observed before. ‘I come here when I need to recharge. To look around, talk to a few people. Real people. Without the cameras and the soundbites and everyone second-guessing my motives.’