“There he is.” The words tasted metallic, like blood from a bitten tongue. 

 

Xavier’s fingers dug into my sleeve. “Mummy… who?” 

 

“Someone Mummy used to—”

 

Raymond stumbled from the Bentley, crumpling over the kerb. A violent retch—last night’s canapés splattered across the tarmac. 

 

“Raymond. Look at me.” I gripped his shoulder, the stench of bile sharp. “Eyes here. Breathe.” 

 

“If I ever… huek… see another sports car—”

 

Harry appeared, leaning against the Bentley’s bonnet. “Christ, mate. You’ve christened the pavement proper.”

 

Raymond wiped his mouth, glaring. “Laugh. I’ll remember this at your stag do.” 

 

Harry chuckled, let out a weary sigh, and shoved a bottle of water into Raymond’s hands.

 ...