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the phrase. Liked a drink as in an odd tipple or glued to the bottle?
    ‘How was he when he was drinking?’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Did it alter his mood, his behaviour?’ Not wanting to put words in Margaret’s mouth, or ideas in her head.
    ‘He was quieter; the same, really. Perhaps a bit . . . short-tempered.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘If the children were being bold, or noisy, he might tell them off. That’s all.’
    Janet recognized the Irish turn of phrase. Bold meaning naughty. The Irish the biggest immigrant population in Manchester, something like a third of the citizens having some Irish blood. Janet had, through her father’s side. Still heard Irish accents often and particular words that differed from English. Running messages meant going on errands. Janet had once been told drugs were hidden in the hot press – Irish for the airing cupboard.
    A depressed drunk then. Someone whose troubles magnified with each tot. ‘Would he drink at work?’ Janet asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Margaret said. ‘To be sociable. Not too much.’
    ‘Did Pamela ever say anything about his health?’
    ‘No. I don’t think he went to the doctor’s in all the time I’ve known him.’
    ‘You mentioned things being hard with the business. What can you tell me about that?’ Janet asked.
    ‘Just with the recession and that. People have less money in their pockets and there’s a lot out of work round there,’ Margaret said.
    ‘On the Larks?’
    Margaret nodded.
    ‘They were settled there?’
    ‘Oh, yes. They’d no plans to leave. Penny had just gone up to secondary school. They’d not want to uproot her.’
    ‘Did you ever hear of Owen being involved in anything illegal?’ Janet said.
    ‘No, no – he’d have no truck with that sort of thing.’
    ‘Did either of them owe anybody money? Borrow money?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Margaret shrugged. ‘It wasn’t my business. That would be between the two of them.’
    Janet nodded. ‘How often did you see them?’
    ‘Two or three times a year I’d come over, but Pamela rang me every Sunday. Regular as clockwork.’ Her lip trembled.
    ‘When did you last see them?’
    ‘August – the bank holiday week.’
    ‘And yesterday, did Pamela ring?’ Janet asked gently.
    Margaret gave a nod and pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes flooding with tears. Perhaps she was realizing that yesterday was the last time she would ever speak to her daughter.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out.
    ‘It’s fine,’ Janet said, ‘I understand.’ She passed over the tissues. ‘Are you all right to continue?’ Margaret Milne nodded. Her face was watery, wobbly, as Janet resumed. ‘How was Pamela when you spoke yesterday?’
    ‘Grand. Same as ever. She’d told me that Penny had played—’ She stopped abruptly, took several painful breaths, then said, ‘Penny had played netball on Saturday and they’d won. She’d got a goal.’
    ‘What else?’ Janet said.
    ‘The weather getting colder, and Theo not being so good the week before. He gets awful earache, but he was better.’
    ‘Tell me about the boys. Harry – the little one.’
    ‘He’s a bright spark,’ his grandmother said. ‘Runs rings round you, that age, into everything? But he sleeps like a lamb.’
    ‘And Theo?’ Janet said.
    ‘He’s the sensitive type. Harry – you can put him down and he’s spark out, but Theo has to have the light on and you have to sit with him. He has bad dreams.’ Again she stopped. Bad dreams. But this isn’t a dream, Janet thought, this is real. But at this stage too enormous to comprehend.
    ‘What does he like, Theo?’ she said.
    ‘Oh, trains. He’s train mad.’ Margaret almost smiled.‘Michael was the same. Penny’s very good with him. With both of them. If they’re busy she’ll put them to bed or get their tea.’ She started to cry again. Janet allowed her time to recover from the deluge of emotion. Watched her breathing settle, the hitching of her shoulders ebb away.