‘I know it all worked out well for you and your husband.’

‘My father is serving a life sentence – and it worked out well for me?’

‘For you it did, and for your many admirers. And I would put any of them ahead of your dying dad. Like those men who worked for your father.’

He meant the two Daves.

‘And that great big Aussie lump who is married to your pal, Ginger. That Spike guy. Did you know he nearly beat a man to death once? Ex-boyfriend of his wife, apparently, who wouldn’t press charges.’

So it turned out that Spike had done far more to Omar than just have a quiet word.

‘And then there’s my favourite – your husband. All your admirers, Mrs Carver.’

‘I don’t have any admirers.’

‘Oh, I think you do! A fine-looking woman like you? A lot of men want to get in your good books.’ He came closer and for the first time I could smell the alcohol on him. ‘And in your pants,’ he said.

‘You’re drunk,’ I said, taking a step back. ‘And it’s disgusting.’

‘You know why I’m drunk, Mrs Carver? Because you get the call and you go. They don’t ask you if you feel up to it tonight, or if you have had a couple of drinks, or if you feel like sorting out all the screwed-up filth that people do to each other. They tell you that a bunch of dumb teenagers are chucking petrol bombs through a few windows off Upper Street and you answer the call.’ He wiped his face with the palm of his hand. ‘You know how many crimes of passion I’ve seen? Plenty. Crimes of passion makes it sound more romantic than it really is. In real life, it’s not romantic at all. All those angry men who found out their wives had been wrapping their legs around some other man. Most men – even the rational, quiet types who would not hurt a fly – it drives them insane. So the husband is always ahead of the father in the queue. Especially when dear old daddy is dying.’

I swung my fist at his face. The blow caught him high on the cheekbone and spun his head sideways.

He laughed at me.

And I could feel the panic gripping my heart and the heat of the fire still on my face and I could see the sneer on his mouth.

‘It works for a lot of people if your old man takes the fall,’ he said. ‘And it works for you too.’ He touched his face and looked at his fingers. No blood. ‘But the truth will come out one day, Mrs Carver. And when it does – I’ll be waiting for you. And your husband.’

38

Christian

The car was back.

On what felt like the first real day of summer, my T-shirt stuck to my back with sweat as I watched the car from a corner of the window blinds. Camden Town seemed over-lit and airless, and the car baked in the heat on the far side of the street, directly opposite our house, making no attempt to hide. There was nobody in the passenger seat, which made it seem as though this was not an official visit. This was personal. And somehow, that was a lot worse.