He talked. He talked so much, in a stream of words that sometimes made sense and sometimes didn’t, as if half the conversation was happening in his own head. ‘She was so, you know how she was. Flirting her ass off. That dress. Throwing herself all over Bill and, and I was so drunk, Al, and I just felt . . . I’m not a man. I know that. I’m not a man because I can’t make anything and Jodi knows I’m not a man and you know and. And. You see. She. How she was. You know? That dress . . . Al, I never meant to. I thought she wanted to. That dress. Flirting. Christ, she’s such a tease when she wants to be. We called her that. Karen the Pricktease, back then, only, only, Mikey, she wasn’t teasing him. Never told me. His best friend. Never told me. But I saw. I saw it on his phone.’

For a moment I thought he was going to cry with self-pity, poor old Cal, that no one had told him and he wasn’t a man. ‘. . . I thought she wanted. She was so. So, so. You know. And I saw her on the lawn and her legs were all bare so I went up to her – I thought she wanted. And she didn’t stop . . . she didn’t say no. You know Kar. She likes rough. You can tell. Dirty, like. Tell from looking. So we . . . and I went over and I was so drunk and then I . . .’

I felt frozen. I could see the glass of whisky in front of me, diluted by melted ice cubes, but I didn’t know if I could lift my hand to touch it. All I could see was Karen that night. Blood on her thigh. Callum. Crashed out on the sofa in the living room, as if he’d been there for hours. But for Mike’s sake, I needed to be clear. I needed to be very very clear, even if having this conversation felt like putting my hand into a flame. ‘Cal. You’re saying that you and Karen . . . that you had sex with Karen . . . that night?’

He nodded up and down, like the dog in that ad. ‘Thought she wanted it.’ Sorrowful. ‘Feeling bad. Jodi up the duff . . . not a real man. Not mine.’

‘So you . . . Cal, she was hurt. She was bleeding.’

He shrank, like a boy being told off. ‘Thought she liked it. She didn’t say stop. Was awkward though. She kept kicking, like kicking me, and I had scratches. Hurt. Wildcat.’

I had to be very very clear. ‘Did you . . . when you were with her, did you . . . finish?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Can’t. Couldn’t do it.’ Could there still be DNA though, from skin or hair or something? My stomach turned.