Page 112 of In Too Deep

Teddy recoiled beside Jake.

Jake stood so abruptly the coffee table rattled. “Watch your fucking mouth, Dad.”

Donnie surged to his feet too, chest puffed with anger, and for one horrible second Jake genuinely thought his father might square up to him. And Christ, Jake didn’t even know what he’d do if that happened. Because this was his dad. The man who’d taught him roofing at fourteen. The man who’d put tools in his hands and given him something solid to fall back on when music and prison and grief had gutted the rest of his life.

But he was being cruel.

Cruel in front of Teddy. Cruel about a murdered girl neither of them had ever met. In that ugly, old-fashioned way that acted as though women somehow invited violence simply by being vulnerable enough to need money.

Yet it didn’t feel like cruelty alone.

It felt like panic.

As if his dad were arguing with something far bigger than the television. Jake just couldn’t work out what had frightened him so badly.

“Calm down.” He stepped forward and planted a hand on his father’s chest, the irony not lost on him. Usually he was the one people had to hold back. “You know nowt about that girl.”

Donnie sniffed hard, refusing to meet his eyes. “I know our Robyn weren’t like that.”

Jake stared at him.

So that was what this was about.

Not Lauren Pike.

Robyn.

Every time the police mentioned sex work, every time another missing girl made the news, the whispers started all over again. The rumours. The gossip. The quiet assumptions people made when they thought no one from the Whitton family was listening.

And Donnie couldn’t bear it.

Couldn’t bear anyone putting his daughter in the same sentence as women like Lauren Pike. Maybe couldn’t even bear the possibility himself.

“Dad—”

“She weren’t.” Donnie’s voice had dropped, but somehow that made it worse. “Whatever folk said back then. Whatever they bloody say now. Our Robyn weren’t doing that.”

“I know.”

“She had Teddy. She had us. She wouldn’t have—” Donnie stopped and dragged a hand roughly across his mouth. “She just wouldn’t.”

Jake looked over at Teddy. The kid had folded into himself in the armchair, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, one knee bouncing uncontrollably as he stared at the carpet, rubbing the sleeve of his hoodie beneath his nose.

Jesus Christ.

Jake dropped his hand from his father’s chest and jerked his chin at the kid. “Ted.”

The boy glanced up.

“Go pack a bag.”

Confusion crossed over his face. “What?”

“Come stay with me for a bit, aye.”

“There’s no need for that,” Donnie snapped, though some of the fight had drained out of him.

“There is.” Jake gestured helplessly. “This house is doing that thing again where no one eats and everybody just sits round angry at ghosts.”