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“Well, that’s reassuring.”

We turn onto Randolph Road, which couldn’t look any different to the street where I grew up. Big sandstone houses set back behind hedges. Front gardens with flowers in them.

“This is us,” Briony says, leading us to one of the houses. A man is kneeling at one of the borders in a pair of gardening gloves, a pile of weeds on the grass beside him. “Hi, Dad.”

“Oh, Briony. And Ryan!” He gets to his feet and tugs off a glove to shake my hand. He has a firm grip.

“Mr Sinclair,” I say.

“Ach, call me Neil. Very pleased to meet you.”

Penny paws at Neil’s leg, and he gets down on one knee to make a big fuss of her, telling her she’s a good girl, the best girl, while her whole back end wags like she hasn’t seen him in years.

Straightening, he pulls Briony into a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Hiya, love. You two go on in. I’ll quickly finish up here. First, though, weed or not weed?” He points to something in the border.

“Not weed,” Briony says confidently. “It’s a foxglove. It’ll have self-seeded from the ones by the gate. Leave it and it’ll flower next summer.”

Neil smiles. “That’s our Briony,” he says to me. “What she doesn’t know about plants isn’t worth knowing.”

Briony pats his arm then leads me inside. It’s a big place—and this is only the hall. High ceiling, polished wooden floor, a long rug running down the middle. There are a couple of paintings on the walls, plus flowers in a vase on a table—Briony’s, I’d bet. And books everywhere. Shelves of them lining one wall, with more stacked in neat piles on the floor.

Briony lets Penny off the lead, then we go through to a large kitchen at the back of the house. Her maw is at the counter, tossing a salad, an apron over her clothes. She looks up as we come in.

“Hello, darling.” She sets down the salad servers and kisses Briony’s cheek, then bends to pet Penny. Then her eyes come to me.

“Kathy.” I hold out my hand.

There’s a pause. Barely there, but I catch it. Then she takes my hand.

“Ryan. Thanks for coming.”

“Aye, nae bother. Something smells good. What are we having?”

“Lasagne.” She turns back to the salad. “One with beef for the boys, and a vegetable one for Briony and me.”

“Brilliant. I cannae remember the last time I had a home-made lasagne.” I pat my stomach. “Anything I can do?”

“No, no, everything is under control. It’s almost ready. Why don’t the two of you go and tell Innes to come through to the dining room? He’s been very excited about tonight’s dinner guest.”

I’m impressed she manages to say it without rolling her eyes.

Kathy might not like me very much, but I’ll say this for her: she’s a bloody good cook. The lasagne is rich and meaty, the sauce thick, the cheese on top browned and crispy at the edges.

We’re eating in the dining room—a whole room just for eating in—at a long wooden table with a tablecloth and proper napkins, not paper ones. A big window looks onto the back garden. Neil has changed out of his gardening clothes into a collared shirt, not unlike the one I’m wearing. Glad I made the effort. Penny is lying under his chair. Apparently he’s the favourite, at least at dinnertime.

Innes is at the end of the table, beside me, talking a mile a minute, mostly about Cruz and Vale. The fight’s only a week away now, and he has a lot of opinions.

“The thing is, Cruz has been fighting professionally for seventeen years,” he says. “At some point the reflexes have to go. They always do.”

“They do,” I say. “Just no yet, I don’t think. He looked sharp last time out.”

Across the table, Neil is listening to us closely. “I was sorry to miss your fight, Ryan,” he offers between forkfuls. “I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. Then I came down with that bug, and that was that.” He glances at Briony. “At least this one got to see you in action, eh?”

Briony catches my eye and smiles.

Kathy feeds Innes a forkful of lasagne. He swallows it, then says, “Have you met Vale? Is he as bad as they make out?”

I snort. “Worse. He’s a piece of shit, to be honest.”