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them, his hair remains sticking up. Pharaoh cannot help herself. She crosses to him. Flattens his fringe. Takes his face in her hands and raises his eyes to hers.
    “It won’t be forever, Hector. It won’t always be like this.”
    McAvoy holds her gaze. Holds her scent in his lungs. Fills himself with the cigarettes and perfume, the mints and gin. Wonders how she would react if he pressed his head to her stomach and let her cradle him until the world made sense again.
    “Auntie Trish?”
    McAvoy spins around as his son struggles upright, rubbing his eyes. Pharaoh gives the boy a fulsome hello. They have only met a handful of times but Fin has fallen very much in love with his dad’s boss. She’s loud and naughty and she talks funny and doesn’t mind him hearing when she swears. She also has four daughters who all think he’s the cutest thing since baby rabbits, and her visits tend to presage the consumption of sweets.
    “How the devil are you, my little monster? You driving your dad up the wall?”
    “I’m being good,” says Fin sleepily. “Where’s Sophia?”
    Sophia is Pharaoh’s eldest daughter, and Fin’s favorite human being.
    “She’s at home, trying to find how many pairs of dirty knickers it takes to cover a bedroom carpet. It’s important work. She’s taking it very seriously. I’ve told her she should use mine. When we were poor, they used to double as a tablecloth.”
    Fin has no real idea what Auntie Trish is talking about but he finds everything she says hilarious, so falls into fits of giggles. Pharaoh turns and catches McAvoy’s eye.
    “Shall we take a stroll? I’ve got something to run by you.”
    McAvoy looks unsure. “It’s late. He needs to get to sleep . . .”
    Pharaoh scoffs. She is an experienced parent who is used to being obeyed and believes that most children can be made to behave by the judicious application of chocolate bars and headlocks.
    “He’ll fall asleep the second we get back. That’s right, isn’t it, Fin? No moaning now. You can come for a walk with Dad and me, but if you make a fuss when we put you to bed, I’m allowed to set fire to your legs, yes?”
    Fin grins and nods. He looks at the window and the teeming rain.
    “We have umbrellas,” he says solemnly. “Daddy can hold yours. If you hold his, he’ll have to walk on his knees.”
    “You’re a bloody genius,” says Pharaoh, grinning back at him.
    Fifteen minutes later they are heading west, taking the narrow footpath by the water’s edge. To their left, the rain beats down on the still, brown waters. To their right, the dense forest gives way to a train line and rough, stony waste ground. It would have been far more pleasant to turn left out of The Lodge but by unspoken agreement they avoided the sad ruin of McAvoy’s abandoned home.
    “Can you run on a little way, Fin? I need to talk to Daddy.”
    Obediently, Fin splashes away up the track. He’s dressed in Wellington boots and a blue raincoat. It’s not the sort of thing he would have worn if Roisin were around. She styled him with attitude and flair. But his clothes were ruined in the blast and Fin is now wearing whatever Daddy can afford.
    For a few seconds, neither McAvoy nor Pharaoh speak. They trudge in unison, McAvoy holding the umbrella. He’s wearing his expensive coat with his sneakers and tracksuit trousers and looks like he has ram-raided a charity shop. He is a regular visitor to the thrift stores in the center of nearby Hessle. He’s bought himself a few shirts and comfortable trousers, discarded by the nice, middle-class types who live in these towns and villages to the west of Hull. Eight miles east, in the center of the city, the charity shops sell clothes with knees so shiny they could double as a mirror.
    At length, Pharaoh slips her arm through McAvoy’s.
    “She’s okay,” says Pharaoh at last. “Roisin. I couldn’t get much more than that. Just that the injuries are healing and she’s making a nuisance of