‘I think we need to talk. Mike and Jake are . . . we have to do something.’

Karen’s eyes were blank. I couldn’t read her at all. ‘He won’t get a long sentence. It was too much for him, finding out who his father was.’

‘You told him before the attack?’ I didn’t believe this for a second – why would she tell him something like that at such a moment? But there was no way to prove it and Karen didn’t bother answering again. She lit her cigarette, sucking deeply; for the first time, I saw her as someone I’d cross the street to avoid. A poor woman. A woman who drank too much, smoked, had a kid with no father. Like mine, Karen’s family were not wealthy. If I hadn’t hitched myself to Mike after college, this could have been me.

I said, ‘He stashed the knife beforehand. That looks bad – attempted murder.’ It might be actual murder if she didn’t agree to help me, if Mike died. ‘I know you’re angry but surely you don’t want Jake in jail? He could be tried as an adult. It’s at least five years, probably more. It’ll ruin his life.’

‘You’ve got some nerve,’ she said quietly, dragging on her fag. ‘Telling me how to raise my son.’

‘I’m trying to help.’ There was a snap in my voice. ‘He stabbed my husband. I don’t have to help him. But if I were to put in a word – say he’s a good kid, we know he didn’t mean it and so on – it might make a difference. Or I could say maybe he just wanted to scare us with the knife – it wasn’t meant to go in.’

‘I asked you to do that and you said no. Why the change?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Because Mike will die if he doesn’t get a liver transplant. It’s too long to wait for a donor, but if a family match were available . . .’

She stared at me. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

‘There’s no other option. The transplant list will take too long, Cassie’s not a match, Benji’s too young – it has to be a relative.’

She laughed, a short bark. ‘I have to hand it to you, Al. You found a backbone after all these years.’

‘I don’t have a choice. He’ll die otherwise. And if he does – well, Jake could be looking at a murder charge. Manslaughter, at least.’

She leaned forward to stub out her cigarette, but I could see that had struck her. Mike was her son’s father, if nothing else. ‘Why should we help? You think that’s all we are, poor relations you can harvest for body parts? Christ, Ali, it’s like Never Fucking Let Me Go.’