'I'm not hungry,' sniffed Robbie.
Donovan pushed the plate back towards Robbie.
'Eat it.'
'He doesn't have to, Den. Not if he's not hungry.'
Donovan ignored his sister. He tapped the table in front of Robbie.
'You are not leaving here until that's eaten.'
'I'm not hungry,' said Robbie.
'I don't give a fuck if you're hungry or not hungry, you're going to do as you're told,' shouted Donovan, waving his fork in Robbie's face.
Robbie glared defiantly at his father. A tear rolled down his left cheek.
'Den!' hissed Laura.
Donovan turned to look at his sister. She narrowed her eyes and jerked her head at her two daughters, who were staring at Donovan with looks of horror on their faces.
'I'm sorry,' said Donovan. He smiled at the girls.
'Bet you've heard worse from your dad, haven't you, girls?'
They shook their heads in silence. Robbie seized the opportunity and ran out of the kitchen. Donovan stood up to go after him but Laura put a hand on his arm.
'Leave him be, Den.'
'He's got to learn to do as he's told,' said Donovan.
'He's been through a lot,' said Laura.
'We went through a fucking lot,' said Donovan.
'Didn't stop us doing what we were fucking told.' He stopped himself and smiled apologetically at Jenny and Julie.
'Sorry, girls. I know I shouldn't be swearing like this but I've had a hell of a day.' He smiled again.
'A heck of a day,' he corrected himself.
'You're going to have to calm down, Den,' said Laura.
'He's nine years old and you're treating him as if he works for you.'
'I'm under pressure here, Laura. I need to get out of the country and Robbie's going to have to come with me.'
'He can stay here, with us.'
'He's my son. He needs his father.'
'Then it's time you started acting like one, Den.'
Donovan opened his mouth to argue, but he could tell from the look on his sister's face that she was in no mood to back down. He put down his fork.
'You're not leaving the table until you've eaten that,' said Laura.
'Ha, ha,' said Donovan.
'I mean it,' said Laura.
Donovan sighed and picked up his fork. He stabbed a chunk of cucumber and slotted it into his mouth.
'That's better,' said Laura. She smiled brightly at her daughters, who were still nervously watching Donovan.
'So,
girls, how was your day?' she asked.
Donovan left Laura's house just before ten o'clock. Mark had returned home an hour earlier and they'd all sat in the kitchen and drunk a second bottle of wine after the two girls had gone to bed.
Before Donovan had left, he'd gone up to say goodnight to Robbie, but Robbie had locked the bedroom door and refused to say anything.
Laura pecked Donovan on the cheek on the doorstep.
'You be careful, Den,' she said.
'And go easy on Robbie.'
'Tell him I'll see him tomorrow. We'll go and have ice cream or something.'
'This isn't about ice cream, Den,' said Laura.
'It's about being a father.'
'I am his father.'
'That's right. And being a father means facing up to your responsibilities.'
'I don't remember our father being especially responsible.' Laura flashed him a tight smile but didn't say anything. Donovan closed his eyes and swore silently as he realised what he'd said.
'Christ, I'm turning into him, aren't I?'
Laura hugged him, pressing her head against his chest.
'No, you're not him. You're not going to run away.'
Donovan put his arms around her and held her close.
'I'm being a right bastard to him, aren't I?'
'No, you're not, but he needs your love and your support, Den. He doesn't need to be bossed around.'
Donovan nodded.
'I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll get it sorted, I promise.'
They hugged again, then Laura closed the door. Donovan walked along the path to the pavement, then turned and looked back at the house. The bedroom where Robbie was sleeping was on the first floor, the furthest room to the right. Donovan looked up at the window. The curtain twitched. Donovan raised his hand and gave a small wave. The curtain moved to the side and Robbie appeared. He waved down at Donovan, his face close to tears. Donovan smiled and blew his son a kiss. Robbie moved away from the window and the curtain fell back into place.
'Dennis Donovan?'
Donovan whirled around. A small, balding man was walking towards him, his right hand moving inside his fawn raincoat. Donovan reacted immediately, stepping forward to meet the man, his left hand pushing him in the chest, unbalancing him so that he couldn't pull out whatever was concealed underneath the coat. The man started to protest but Donovan carried on moving forward. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it hard, then stamped down against the man's shin.
The man yelped and fell back. Donovan kicked the man's feet from underneath him and he slammed into the pavement. Donovan followed the man down, dropping on top of him, his knees pinning the man's arms to the ground. Donovan pulled back his right fist, ready to smash it into the man's face.
'Who the fuck are you?' asked Donovan.
The man was confused, shaking his head, his eyes glazed.
'Who sent you!' shouted Donovan.
'Your wife .. .' spluttered the man. He'd bitten his lip as he fell and a trickle of blood dribbled down his chin.
'Bitch!' shouted Donovan. He lowered his fist.
'How much did she pay you?' he asked.
'Our standard fee. One hundred and twenty pounds plus expenses.'
'What?' Donovan was confused. The going rate for a hit in London was fifteen thousand, minimum.
The front door opened. Mark and Laura were there.
'Den? What's happening?' shouted Mark, rushing down the path to the street.
'Who the fuck are you?' asked Donovan.
'I'm a solicitor's clerk,' said the man, gasping for breath.
'I serve writs in the evenings, for the overtime.'
'You're what?'
Mark rushed up behind Donovan.
'What's going on?' he asked.
Donovan ignored him.
'You've got a writ for me?'
The man nodded, then coughed violently. He tried to nod towards his chest.
