‘Keith Richards,’ Christian said. ‘Joe Strummer. Bruce Springsteen. That’s who plays a Fender Telecaster, Marlon. It’s the working man’s guitar.’

Ginger and Spike came in with a blue box tied in a white ribbon from Tiffany. I guided them across to a table already piled high with presents but Ginger always felt like she had a special relationship with my dad and began squeezing across the room to where Leo was in conversation with the two Daves.

A smooth-looking, silver-haired man in black tie and tuxedo came in and everyone cheered.

‘Hank Sinatra!’ I said to Spike. ‘And he does look a bit like him, doesn’t he?’

Spike did not reply.

He looked down at me. ‘I’m not a thug,’ he said. ‘Whatever you might think. Whatever Ginger may have told you.’

‘I never thought you were a thug, Spike. I wouldn’t be friends with you if I thought you were a thug, would I?’

‘I’ve got a sports science degree from the University of Sydney.’

‘Spike—’

‘No, you listen to me, Tara. I went to see that ex-boyfriend of Ginger’s – bloody Omar, who I can’t believe we’re still talking about after all these years. And he was very disrespectful when I spoke to him, talking about the sex he’d had with Ginger and all this stuff a bloke really doesn’t want to hear about the woman he loves. And then Omar went for me, the mad bastard, shouting about me stealing Ginger from him, and he came off worse. That’s the truth. That’s what happened. OK?’

‘OK,’ I said nervously.

‘But that was for my girlfriend. That was for the woman who was going to be my wife.’ He glanced across at Christian. ‘I don’t know what went on with you and this James Caine guy.’

Christian had picked up Marlon and they were making their way towards me through the crowd.

‘Nothing went on,’ I said quickly.

Spike shrugged. ‘And I don’t want to know,’ he said. ‘That’s your affair.’

I felt my mouth going bone dry. I licked my lips.

‘But I had a look at him online. This James Caine. He seems like a regular bloke. Good job in the city. Nice house in Brighton. Wife. Daughter.’

I let this settle. ‘I think his wife died,’ I said.

Spike shook his head. ‘His wife’s not dead. Whatever he may have told you.’

Christian and Marlon were getting closer.

‘And how do you know all this, Spike?’

He looked at me with disbelief. ‘Because you can find out about anyone these days! I looked at his bio on his firm’s website. He doesn’t do social media but his wife does. His missus – Sandy – she’s all over it. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. The lot. They look like a happy, normal family. And I really don’t know what you and Ginger expect me to do to him, Tara.’

I felt the panic fly. ‘I don’t want you to do anything, Spike.’

‘I mean, I can have a word with him and ask him to leave you alone, if you want.’