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hand against her chest. ‘Sorry, sorry. Stupid cough. Well. There you go then. Never did think she was the marrying type.’
    Adrian wiped a dribble of salad cream from the corner of his mouth and said, ‘So, the question is, do you have an address for her? A number?’
    ‘Nah.’ Jean shook her head slowly. ‘Nah. That number.’ She nodded at the phone. ‘That was all I had of her. So,’ she said, drawing herself back to the present. ‘How was she? How’d she seem? When you saw her?’
    ‘Well, you know, I only met her a couple of times, really. And as strangers. So I don’t really know what she’s normally like. But she seemed like a normal, happy person.’
    She nodded approvingly. ‘And how did she look? Did she look good?’
    ‘Er, yes, I suppose. Nicely dressed, beautifully turned out, long blond hair.’
    ‘No no no. I think we’re at cross purposes here, then. Tiffy wouldn’t have blond hair. Never.’
    ‘Well, you know, it was probably dyed.’
    ‘What, really?’ She shuddered. ‘Can’t imagine it.’ She looked faintly appalled. ‘Don’t think Afro hair really takes to bleach, you know. Goes sort of yellow, doesn’t it?’
    Adrian blinked at Jean and said, ‘What? What do you mean, Afro?’
    ‘Well, you know, hair like Tiffy’s. That curly hair.’
    ‘The woman I met did not have Afro hair. Her hair was straight and blond.’
    ‘Oh God, she’s relaxed it too! Not sure I’d recognise her!’
    ‘No. I mean, the girl I met wasn’t black. She was white.’
    ‘Well, Tiffy’s quite light-skinned. More of a café au lait. Her dad was only half and half, you know, so she’s hardly black at all really.’
    ‘Right. No. This girl was properly white. She had blue eyes. Well, blue with a bit of gold in one of them.’
    Jean shook her head then and blew out her cheeks. ‘Nah then,’ she said. ‘Nah. We’re talking about different girls. Definitely. Looks like your girl got hold of my girl’s phone somehow. Nicked it off her. Most probably.’ She sniffed and smiled knowingly at Adrian, looking quite happy with her theory.
    Adrian was about to say, ‘No, not the girl I met. She was far too classy to steal a phone.’ But then he thought about the way she’d taken those cigarettes out of her smart handbag as she left his flat that first time, and had lit one inside cupped hands like a man. So he didn’t say anything. Instead he said, ‘Yeah. Probably,’ and smiled.
    ‘By the way,’ he said as he stood up to leave a few seconds later. ‘Your daughter. Tiffy. You say she was brought up in care. Where was that? Was that in London?’
    ‘No. She was in Southampton. That’s where she was born. That’s where I met her dad. She went in when she was eight or so. Funny. Can’t imagine it now. Now I’ve got Harry.’ Her gaze lingered on a spot just beyond the café window. ‘Can’t imagine how I could have let her go.’ She looked up at Adrian sharply, as though he’d just accused her of something. ‘I was too bloody young, that’s what it was. Too messed in the head. I’m doing it right this time. I was forty when I had Harry. And I’m doing it
all right
this time. Do you hear me?’
    She looked angry and Adrian decided to end the encounter before it escalated into something unpleasant. He smiled at her, reassuringly, paid for his egg sandwich and for her porridge and headed home.

Ten
    Cat changed into joggers and a vest top, pulled her dark hair back tightly into a ponytail and pouted at herself in the mirror. She jabbed at her reflection with bunched-up fists, bambambambam, and then high-kicked at herself. She laughed. What an idiot she looked. She turned to check her rear view. The joggers were low-rise with the word HOT spelled out across her buttocks. They were kind of
2008 called, they want their trousers back
, but they were the only vaguely athletic item of clothing she owned and no way was she going to spend actual money on clothes to do sports in. She stared at all