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tactical training course available so he could be a private contractor, when he could have spent his days shagging his way around ski resorts or snorting coke on some tropical beach. But he'd opted for a thankless, invisible, dirty job a long way from home.
    Mad as a fucking hatter. God love him.
    Rob dithered for a moment. Did Mike mean his own house in Maine, or his dad's place? Maybe Livvie was hosting the whole family this year. Mike's place was big and empty, like he was always waiting for guests who never came, a house that should have been full of kids and dogs. But it was just him and Livvie. It was a bloody shame that they didn't have children. Mike made it clear that it was a big gap in his life.
    Rob studied the photo again before placing the card and the note on the mantelpiece. Mike was still wearing that cheap watch.
    Christ, I'd love to be doing something useful again. But I need to be here for Tom.
    Okay, he'd call Mike later, just to chat. He had to crack on with his routine: make a pan of chilli, leave it to simmer while he watched the news, then do half an hour with the weights before he had his dinner. A few decent kettlebells worked out cheaper than membership at the local gym. His day, week, and month were now mapped out more or less to the hour, his finances to the last penny.
    It's like being in prison. Still, this was what we did back in Afghan. No fancy facilities like the big bases.
    Rob started calculating how much difference a job with Esselby would make. He'd earn four times what he was making in the supermarket, but then there was tax, insurance, and other self -employed expenses to pay. Maybe it wasn't as lucrative as it looked.
    I'd have three months off a year, though, maybe more. And I'd be doing what I do best.
    He could usually switch off while he trained and just concentrate on making his body do what he demanded of it, but it was hard to focus with numbers like that in his mind. He jerked the fifteen-kilo kettlebell over his head, feeling the sweat trickle down his back, and wondered what was getting to him most, the lack of cash or simply being nothing for the first time in his adult life.
    He was lost in his thoughts when the doorbell rang. He went to the intercom, expecting it to be someone trying to sell him something he didn't want or need, because it wouldn't be a visitor. He made sure none of his mates ever came here.
    The voice on the crackly speaker was the last one he expected to hear. "Dad, it's me."
    "Christ. Tom? What are you doing here, kiddo? You're supposed to be in Newcastle."
    "Well, now I'm here. Can I come in?
    Rob held his finger on the button to unlock the hall door, disoriented for a moment, and waited at the top of the stairs. Tom trudged up the steps with a tight-packed holdall and stared at Rob with an expression that said he was trying hide his dismay at finding his father in a dismal place like this. Rob had never let him see the flat. Tom hadn't needed to know.
    "It's the end of term, Dad. Remember? I came back a day early. Sorry I didn't call first."
    "Oh. Seen your mum yet?" Rob showed him in and shut the door before giving him a hug. He'd been caught out and he wasn't sure where the conversation was heading. "What's wrong?"
    Tom wasn't the sort of lad to forget to call ahead. He was eighteen going on fifty, a man who body-searched every word before he let it pass his lips. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "Not with me, anyway. I just didn't want to give you the chance to fob me off this time. I wanted to see this for myself."
    They stood in the cramped hall for a few awkward, silent seconds. Tom looked around. Rob didn't have any excuses ready. He'd expected to show up at Bev's and be nice to her new bloke in exchange for having Christmas with Tom, and never let Tom see how he was actually living. That plan had all gone to rat shit now. All he could do was make his lad feel at home.
    "I'd better get you a drink, hadn't I?"
    "How about going for a curry? Come on,