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it?’
    ‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’
    ‘When it comes to you, Miles, I do.’
    He grinned. ‘OK then, it gives me a buzz. Come on, Jinxy, a couple of hands of poker in a hotel bedroom, it’s hardly major gambling. And who’s going to tell Dad
anyway? You certainly won’t and neither will I.’ He giggled again. ‘I scored’ – he tapped his jacket pocket – ‘so no lectures, all right? I’m not
planning to run up any more debts. The old bastard’s made it clear enough he won’t bail me out again.’
    He was more hyped up than usual, she thought, and wondered how much he’d won. She changed the subject. ‘How’s Fergus?’
    ‘About as pissed off as I am. A couple of days ago, Dad reduced him to tears. You know what my guess is? The worm’ll turn when Dad least expects it and then it’ll
be your precious Adam who gets the thrashing.’ He was fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket, brushing them, smoothing them. ‘Why did you do it? He hates you now, hates us, hates
everyone. Poor old Ma most of all.’
    Jinx lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘You know as well as I do what the solution is,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, God, not more bloody lectures. Anyone would think you were forty-four not thirty-four.’ He raised his voice to a falsetto, mimicking her. ‘You’re old
enough to stand on your own two feet, Miles. You can’t expect your mother to give you Porsches all your life. It’s time to move out, find your own place, start a family.’
    ‘I don’t understand why you don’t want to.’
    ‘Because Dad refuses to ante-up, that’s why. You know the score. If we want to live in reasonable comfort we stay at home where he can keep his eye on us. If we want out,
we do it the hard way and graft for ourselves.’
    ‘Then welcome to the human race,’ she said scathingly. ‘What the hell do you think the rest of us do?’
    His voice rose again, but this time in anger. ‘You damn well never had to graft. You stepped straight into Russell’s money without lifting a finger. Jesus, you’re
so bloody patronizing. “Welcome to the human race, Miles.” You piss me off, Jinx, you really do.’
    She was dog-tired. Why didn’t the nurse come back to rescue her? She stubbed out her cigarette and turned to look at him. ‘Surely anything has to be better than letting
Adam treat you like dirt. When did he last beat you?’ There was something wrong with him, she thought. He was like an addict waiting for a fix, twitched, unable to sit still, fidgeting,
fingering, eyes overbright. Oh, God, not drugs . . . not drugs . . . But as she fell asleep, she was thinking that, yes, of course it was drugs, because self-indulgence was the one thing
Miles was good at. If nothing else, his father had taught him that.
    Odstock Hospital, Salisbury – 9.00 p.m.
    The Casualty doctor was barely out of medical school and nothing in his training had prepared him for this. He smiled tentatively at the woman in the cubicle. It was worse than the
Elephant Man, he was thinking, as he took his place beside the nurse whose hand the wretched woman was clutching. Her face was so swollen that she looked barely recognizable as a human being. She
had given her name as Mrs Hale. ‘You’ve been in the wars,’ he said vacuously.
    ‘My husband – belt . . .’ she croaked through lips that could hardly move.
    He looked at the bruising on her throat where the marks of someone’s fingers were clearly visible. ‘Is it just your face that’s been hurt?’
    She shook her head and, with a pathetic gesture of apology, raised her skirt and revealed knickers saturated with blood. ‘He’ – tears squeezed between her swollen
lids – ‘cut me.’

    Three hours later, a sympathetic policewoman tried to persuade her to make a statement before she was transferred to the operating theatre for surgery to her rectum. ‘Look,
Mrs Hale, we know your husband didn’t do this. We’ve checked and he’s currently serving