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We weren’t a family business. A family business is like a twee family bakery, or having a family trade or some crap like that. Dad owns Hardings Property and Lettings, the largest but one agency in the country. He has over two thousand people working for him, including my snotty sister, so quite why it was so important that I, black-sheep Harding, should have to be on the payroll as well, mystified me.Principle, Mum said. He’s soprincipled.So bloody pig-headed, more like.

I resumed my meal, picking at my peas while I waited for it. I thought I’d made it, that maybe for once he’d defy history and let it go until dessert, but no. Of course he wouldn’t.

“Well, maybe it’s time we spoke about the rent on your apartment, then...”

Oh how I love Sundays.

***

The thrill of defiance. A cheap thrill, admittedly, but nonetheless, signing out of the office before Christine’s midday briefing was just the perk I needed on a Monday morning. Nothing like a super important, utterly routine estate walkabout to start the week.

I breathed in the dank, cold air of East Veil skate park, scribbling a note to call in maintenance. More syringes than usual. Must have been a real junkie smash up.

Some idiots had torn the benches apart, used one to smash the glass at the bus shelter across the street. A traffic cone covering a lamppost, and someone’s old trainer wedged in the top. Give me strength.

Al Brown was already outside his fish and chip shop. He waved as I walked on by, sweeping broken glass from the doorway.Dum Cuntin big black letters, daubed over his windows — an irony if ever I saw one. Definitely not one of Callum Jackson’s masterpieces. I kept a beady eye out, surprisingly excited at the prospect of finding one before clean-up had their way with it.

My legs felt a little seasick as I stepped from the alleyway into the tower one garage block, but the place was empty this time, no sign of life. Faintly, ever so faintly, you could still make out the top of the T where Callum’s message had been. I skirted the edge of the garages for a better view, landing a heel straight into a used rubber. Fucking brilliant. My heel speared through, dragging it along the tarmac as I danced a jig, trying to shake the grotty thing off. Nothing says romance quite like a discarded condom.

Like I was in any position to pass judgement on romance. At least therewasa rubber, a responsible choice about contraception if not about location. Can’t have it all, I suppose.

I kept going, tower one pulling me like a ruddy grey homing beacon.

I was not looking forhim, definitely, definitely not looking. He hadn’t even crossed my mind, not once. Definitely not the first thing I’d thought of on arriving at the office. Certainly, absolutely not a factor when considering an estate walkabout. Callum Jackson could be anywhere for all I cared. Preferably on someone else’s estate, fighting with someone else’s tenants.

My heart leapt at the sight of a grey hoodie, but it was just a youngster, fourteen at most. Blonde, skinny.

Get back with the bloody plot, Sophie Harding.

I don’t know how I found myself knocking on Hannah Jackson’s front door, but it took her an age to answer, mumbling obscenities as she went.

“Not even ten o bloody clock yet.”

I checked my watch. “Twenty past, actually.”

She peered past me, to the lifts. “Ain’t s’posed to come on your own, are ya?”

“That’s discretionary on a case by case basis,” I lied. “I thought I’d drop by again, about the security.”

“Ain’t got me new letterbox yet.” She took the chain off the door, wandered back inside where I could follow her. I shut the door behind me, adjusting my nose to the stink. Stale tobacco and damp. She brushed a space on the sofa, dumping a load of fish and chip papers onto the carpet. “Nor the bars on the windows.”

“Fifth floor isn’t deemed an intruder risk, not for the windows. That might take some time, funding’s tight.”

“Fifth floor, tenth floor, won’t bloody keephimout.”

“Has your son made any threats towards you? Been in contact since our last visit?”

“Not since he got the dog back. Don’t mean he ain’t still coming after me, mind.” She lit up a cigarette, blowing smoke in my direction. “Why d’you help him?”

Blood drained from my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

She smiled, and under her haggard appearance I got glimpse of the family resemblance. “Weren’t born yesterday, love. People talk.”

“I, um... did what I thought best for the animal.”

“Which one of ‘em?” Hannah Jackson laughed, rocking back on the sofa and blowing a fresh cloud of smoke over me. I tried to age her, placing her forty at most, although the years really hadn’t been kind. She’d have been an attractive woman, minus the pitted face and sunken eyes; she was carrying a bit of extra weight, but carrying it well. She’d her own red-flag on our system, a much lower grade than Callum, but nonetheless cause for concern, yet I didn’t feel the same intimidation in her presence. Maybe my bad, or maybe she wasn’t showing her worst on a weekday morning. “You ain’t the first and won’t be the last.”

“Sorry?”

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