Come Friday, for the first time in two years she was genuinely relieved when Graham arrived to take him off her hands for forty-eight hours.

Ray headed out to play five-a-side football on Saturday morning and she made the mistake of attempting to clean the house. She was manhandling the sofa to get at the fluff and slime and toy parts underneath when something tore in her lower back. Suddenly she was in a great deal of pain and walking like the butler in a vampire movie.

Ray microwaved some supper and they attempted an orthopedic, low-impact shag but the ibuprofen seemed to have rendered her numb in all the unhelpful places.

On Sunday she gave in and retired to the sofa, keeping the crap mother guilt at bay with Cary Grant videos.

At six Graham turned up with Jacob.

Ray was in the shower so she let them in herself and tottered back to the chair in the kitchen.

Graham asked what was wrong but Jacob was too busy telling her what a wonderful time they’d had at the Natural History Museum.

“And there were…there were skellingtons of elephants and rhinoceroses and…and…the dinosaurs were ghost dinosaurs.”

“They were repainting one of the rooms,” said Graham. “Everything was under dust sheets.”

“And Daddy said I could stay up late. And we had…we had…we had eggy. And toast. And I helped. And I gotted a chocolate stegosaurus. From the museum. And there was a dead squirrel. In Daddy’s…Daddy’s garden. It had worms. In its eyes.”

Katie held her arms out. “Are you going to give your mummy a big hug?”

But Jacob was in full flow. “And…and…and we went on a double-decker bus and I keeped the tickets.”

Graham crouched down. “Hang on a tick, little man, I think your mummy’s hurt herself.” He put a finger to Jacob’s lips and turned to Katie. “Are you OK?”

“Wrecked my back. Moving the sofa.”

Graham gave Jacob a serious look. “You be good to your mummy, all right? Don’t go giving her the runaround. Promise?”

Jacob looked at Katie. “Is your back not comfy?”

“Not very. But a hug from my monkey boy would make it feel a lot better.”

Jacob didn’t move.

Graham got to his feet. “Well, it’s getting late.”

Jacob began to wail, “I don’t want Daddy to go.”

Graham ruffled his hair. “Sorry, Buster. Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”

“Come on, Jacob.” Katie held her arms out again. “Let me give you a cuddle.”

But Jacob was working himself up into a state of truly operatic despair, punching the air and kicking out at the nearest chair. “Not go. Not go.”

Graham tried to hold him, if only to stop him hurting himself. “Hey, hey, hey…” Normally he would have left. They’d learnt the hard way. But normally she could have scooped Jacob into her arms and hung on to him while Graham beat a retreat.

Jacob stamped his feet. “Nobody…Nobody listens…I want…I hate…”

After three or four minutes Ray appeared in the doorway with a towel round his waist. She was past caring what he might say and how Graham might react. He walked over to Jacob, hoisted him over his shoulder and disappeared.

There wasn’t time to react. They just stared at the empty door and listened to the screaming getting fainter as Ray and Jacob made their way upstairs.

Graham got to his feet. She thought for a moment that he was going to make some caustic comment and she wasn’t sure she could handle that. But he said, “I’ll make some tea,” and it was the kindest thing he’d said to her in a long time.

“Thanks.”

He put the kettle on. “You’re giving me a weird look.”

“The shirt. It’s the one I bought you for Christmas.”

“Yeh. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No. I wasn’t trying to…” She was crying.

“Are you all right?” He reached out to touch her but stopped himself.

“I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Are things going OK?” asked Graham.

“We’re getting married.” She was crying properly now. “Oh crap. I shouldn’t be…”

He gave her a tissue. “That’s great news.”

“I know.” She blew her nose messily. “And you? What about you?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Tell me,” said Katie.

“I was seeing someone from work.” He took away her soggy tissue and gave her a fresh one. “It didn’t work out. I mean, she was great, but…She wore this swimming cap in the bath to keep her hair dry.”

He took out some Fig Rolls and they talked about the safe stuff. Ray putting his foot in it with Jamie. Graham’s gran modeling for a knitwear catalog.

After ten minutes he made his excuses. She was sad. It surprised her and he paused just long enough to suggest that he felt the same. There was a brief moment during which one of them might have said something inappropriate. He cut it short.

“You look after yourself, OK?” He kissed her gently on the top of the head and left.

She sat quietly for a few more minutes. Jacob had stopped crying. She realized she hadn’t felt the pain while she and Graham had been talking. It was back with a vengeance now. She swigged two more ibuprofen with a glass of water then shuffled upstairs. They were in Jacob’s room. She stopped outside and glanced round the door.

Jacob was lying on the bed, facedown, looking at the wall. Ray was sitting next to him, patting his bottom and singing “Ten Green Bottles” very quietly and completely out of tune.

Katie was crying again. And she didn’t want Jacob to see. Or Ray for that matter. So she turned and silently walked back down to the kitchen.

27

Above all it seemed so profoundly unjust.

George was not naïve. Bad things happened to good people. He knew that. And vice versa. But when the Benns were burgled by their daughter’s boyfriend, or when Brian’s first wife had to have her breast implants taken out, you couldn’t help thinking that some kind of rudimentary justice was being done.

He knew men who had kept mistresses their entire married lives. He knew men who had gone bankrupt and registered the same company under a different name the following month. He knew a man who had broken his son’s leg with a spade. Why were they not going through this?

He had spent thirty years making and installing playground equipment. Good playground equipment. Not as cheap as Wicksteed or Abbey Leisure, but better value.

He had made mistakes. He should have sacked Alex Bamford when he found him half conscious on the floor of the office washroom. And he should have asked for written evidence of Jane Fuller’s back problems and not waited until she appeared in the local paper doing that fun run.

He had made seventeen people redundant, but they got a decent settlement and as good a reference as he could write without perjuring himself. It was not heart surgery, but neither was it weapons manufacture. In a modest way he had increased the happiness of a small part of the human population.

And now this had been dumped on his plate.

Still, there was no point in complaining. He had spent his life solving problems. Now he had to solve another one.

His mind was malfunctioning. He had to bring it under control. He had done it before. He had shared a house with his daughter for eighteen years without coming to blows, for starters. When his mother died he went back into the office the following morning to make sure the Glasgow deal did not fall through.

He needed a strategy, just as he would if Jean had booked a holiday for two in Australia.

He found himself a sheet of stiff, cream writing paper, drew up a list of rules, then hid it in the fireproof cash box at the back of the wardrobe with his birth certificate and the house deeds:

1. Keep busy.

2. Take long walks.

3. Sleep well.

4. Shower and change in the dark.

5. Drink red wine.

6. Think of something else.

7. Talk.