The man had gestured thanks to Charlie, too, nodding and smiling. ‘Awful good of you to bring them in. Most wouldn’t. I should give one back as your reward.’

‘Oh, no. What’d be the point then, eh? Enjoy your evening. Cheerio.’

‘Bless you, thank you. Cheerio, then.’ The man had backed away and shut the door.

She’d ambled down the path towards her brother, flashed him a thumbs up. ‘All sorted.’ Bringing out the keys, she’d wandered round the long red bonnet, opened up the driver’s side. ‘Not bad, eh?’

‘It’s a corker.’ As soon as he’d got in, he’d started feeling up the leather, reaching out to stroke the walnut.

‘Wait until you hear it go,’ she’d said.

‘What’s it, two and a half litres?’

‘Haven’t got the foggiest.’

She’d not been used to driving such a grand machine. Everything had looked so different on the dashboard. The controls had been in places that she wasn’t used to. The ignition on the fascia with a separate starter button. Everywhere a silver knob or dial for twisting. She’d turned the key and pushed the starter, but the engine wouldn’t fire. ‘That’s strange,’ she’d said. The petrol gauge was showing half a tank. ‘It’s not done this before.’

She’d given it another try. It coughed and scratched. Another try. Another.

‘Joy, stop. That’s not helping.’

‘It can’t be the batttery. What’s wrong with it?’

‘You’ve got to –’ He’d trailed off quickly, with a downward glance. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you go and ask your friend what’s wrong with it?’

‘I’m not disturbing him again.’

‘How come?’

‘He’s got an early start tomorrow.’

‘Right. Works down a coal mine, does he?’

‘Shut up, mouse.’

‘What is he, then?’

‘A doctor, if you must know.’

‘How’d you meet him?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No.’ She’d checked her watch. ‘The spark plugs must need cleaning.’

He’d ignored this. ‘That bloke’s much too old for you. You know that, right?’

‘Don’t start. He’s just a kind old man who likes me, that’s all. He gets lonely and we keep each other company.’

‘Yeah, and then he leaves a fiver on the table for you.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t act surprised. I know that’s how you earn a living. I mean, it’s bloody obvious. You’ve got no job. But you can still afford the flat. And all those records you keep buying. Pretty clothes. And now some bloke just lets you take his motor for a spin? Come on.’

She’d wanted to reach out and strangle him. ‘Jesus, Charlie. Are you calling me a brass?’

‘Well, aren’t you?’

‘No I’m bloody not. Who’s put that in your head? Aunt Helen?’

He’d shrugged and stared at his reflection in the window. For a good few minutes, they’d said nothing to each other. She’d sat there, seething, till the dials on the dash had blurred away. Her estimation of herself had sunk. She’d thought of prim old Helen and her godly friends, chuntering away to one another in the nave: Of course she’s got no job to speak of but she manages to keep a flat, as if by magic. Everybody knows she has no scruples, that one. Shine a penny up and she’d be yours … Then her eyes had shifted to the little clock on the speedometer. She couldn’t waste another moment, dwelling. ‘Look, we’re going to have a proper conversation, you and me – I’m not letting you go round with all that nonsense in your head. But now we’re really late and I don’t have any time to put you right. So do us both a favour, eh? Step out and have a look below the bonnet, see if you can tell what’s going on with it.’