There are some men, Annie thought, such as Daniel Craig and Aidan Turner, who should be shirtless as often as possible, but Lenny Thornton wasn’t one of them. His hairy belly drooped over his belt, little squares of fat pushing through the net of his string vest, and his man breasts wobbled when he moved. He could also do with a shave and a haircut, and probably a wash, too. A can of Carlsberg Special Brew rested on one arm of his armchair and an ashtray on the other. Annie also noticed, as her eyes adjusted, that there was another person in the room, a man with long, greasy hair and a lined, unshaven face, who might well be dead for all the sound he’d made or movement he’d shown. Annie thought he resembled a zombie biker in the dim light. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“That’s Sinead’s brother,” Lenny Thornton answered. “Hasna moved from that chair in ten years. Except to go to the local, that is. Say hello to the polis, Johnny.”

Johnny gave what sounded like a grunt without taking his eyes away from the football game. The door on the other side of the room was open, and Annie could see through the kitchen and the open back door to the yard beyond, with its high brick wall and latched wooden gate. A bicycle without wheels leaned against the wall. She knew without looking that beyond the gate would be a narrow cobbled alley, and on the opposite side another backyard exactly the same. People used to have their WCs out there, but most had got indoor toilets these days and only used the old outhouses as storage sheds. At least a light breeze blew in through the open door. There were two hard-backed chairs at the table by the window, and Annie decided they were probably the safest place to sit, after she had moved a pile of old Racing Posts from one of them.

“Do you know how long Sinead will be?” she asked.

“No telling with her when she goes out and about.”

“Do you know where we can find her?”

“Could be anywhere.”

Annie pressed on. “And Mimsy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Her name’s Mimosa, by the way. Sinead says she named her after a posh drink she had at a wedding once. But everyone calls her Mimsy. ’Cept Sinead, that is.”

“Any other children?”

“She’s got an older brother.”

“What’s he called? Buck’s Fizz?”

“Come again?”

“Never mind.”

“Albert, he’s called. After his granddad. Silly name for a kid these days, I’d say.”

Albert and Mimosa, Annie thought. It sounded like a good stage name. What act would they perform? Magician and assistant? “Where’s Albert?”

“He’s out an’ all.”

“So there’s just you and Johnny here?”

“That’s right, hen.”

Annie sighed. “Lucky us.”