Marlon’s eyes gleamed with excitement. He raised his hand and very slowly and very gently touched his tiny fist against Spike’s calloused open palm. Spike recoiled with mock agony, howling with theatrical pain. Marlon smiled shyly while Buddy barked and capered, excited at having visitors in the house that played such totally brilliant games.

‘Enough,’ Ginger said, grabbing Marlon and hugging him close. ‘My Marlon’s a sweet boy, a gentle boy.’

‘He’s a wild man!’ Spike insisted. ‘He’s a sleeping volcano, ready to blow. Just like his dad!’

Spike had been greatly amused by Christian’s brush with the law.

‘I’ll tell you what, mate,’ Spike said approvingly, ‘I bet he doesn’t speed down this street any more.’

Christian pushed his glasses up his nose, always a sign that he was embarrassed. He looked shame-faced as he opened a second bottle of Shiraz.

‘Time for bed,’ I said. Marlon and Buddy were both getting overexcited.

‘Five more minutes,’ Marlon said. ‘I implore you.’

‘And I implore you to go and brush your teeth,’ I said, proud of his new word.

‘Want Auntie Ginger to put you to bed?’ Ginger said.

Marlon was apologetic. ‘My daddy reads me a story.’ He picked up The Call of the Wild from the coffee table and showed it to Ginger.

‘You know, angel,’ I said, ‘you’re allowed to have lots and lots of different books.’

‘But I like this one. It’s about a dog.’

Spike looked at the cover. ‘It’s not about a dog called … Buddy, is it?’

Marlon smiled politely. ‘No, it’s actually about a dog called Buck.’

Christian filled our glasses and then nodded at Marlon.

‘Come on, kiddo,’ he said. ‘Let’s hit the hay.’

Buddy trooped after them as they left the room. Ginger leaned back in her chair, looking at me over the rim of her wine glass. She nodded. It was time.

Spike had wandered off to the far side of the room and was flipping through Christian’s extensive record collection. He pulled out a copy of Sticky Fingers by the Rolling Stones with the original Andy Warhol artwork on the cover – the image of the jeans with a real zip. Spike began testing the zip.

‘So vinyl’s coming back, is it?’ he said.

‘Vinyl never went away,’ I said.

Ginger looked at me. I shook my head. So she started the thing herself. ‘Tara has a problem,’ she said.

Christian’s voice came over the child monitor.

‘Buck was ravenous. The pound and a half of sun-dried salmon, which was his ration for each day, seemed to go nowhere. He never had enough, and suffered from perpetual hunger pangs.’

Spike didn’t look up from the cover of Sticky Fingers. ‘Problem?’

‘She gets these cranks,’ Ginger continued. ‘Because of her business.’

‘Yeah, I bet!’ Spike laughed. ‘The Internet creaks and out come the freaks!’

‘There’s this anonymous blogger,’ I said. ‘The Accidental Dater. She writes about the dates she has had through Angel Eyes, all these dates from hell. She’s got a lot of followers. A lot. And it could really hurt the business.’