The next day, when we wake up, Angie’s flights have already been booked online and Dad is up and dressed, ready to drive her to East Midlands Airport.

I stay in my bedroom while Sergei says goodbye to his mum. When he comes back in, his eyes are red and he keeps sniffing like he has a cold.

I’ve had Sergei’s screenplay swirling round in my head all night. It’s left a sour taste at the back of my throat, as if while I’m sleeping I’ve been trying to swallow down all the mean things I’ve said and all the stuff I’ve watched being done to him since he arrived in England.

I’d like to take it all back, now I know the truth, but I don’t know how to.

Angie puts her head around the door before she leaves.

‘Goodbye, Calum. Soon, I will be back.’

‘Bye, Angie, have a safe journey,’ I say, and I mean it. After Sergei confided in me, I think about how she might not be safe.

When they’ve gone, Sergei helps me get dressed, and eventually we manage to get into the sitting room.

Two hours later, Dad strolls back in with doughnuts and vanilla milkshakes from McDonald’s.

‘Thank you, Pete. This is a good treat.’ Sergei brings some plates through. His eyes look far away but I can see he’s trying to be brave about his grandad.

‘I rang the coppers like you asked me, Calum,’ Dad says, handing me a doughnut. ‘Spoke to PC Channer. He made a note but doesn’t think it’s very likely there’s any connection between the break-ins at the centre and your accident.’

A stab of annoyance jabs at my chest. ‘How does he know? If he hasn’t found who’s thieving from the centre, he can’t know for sure.’

Dad doesn’t answer. I feel a burning urge to go out there and knock on doors to ask questions. Anything but sitting here, completely useless and reliant on others.

I watch Dad carefully as he hands me the paper cup with a straw. He’s avoiding my eyes, for some reason.

I’ve seen him like this before and I recognize the signs. He’s got something to say that he’s not looking forward to telling me.

‘So, what “man-stuff” have you got planned for us today then, Dad?’ I nudge him.

Sergei looks up from tearing his doughnut into bite-size pieces. ‘Man-stuff?’

‘Yeah, Dad’s cleared his diary to spend more time with us while your mum’s away.’ I wipe a smear of jam from my chin with the back of my hand.

‘This is good news, Pete.’ Sergei seems to cheer up a bit. ‘Perhaps we can go to the bowling alley?’

‘Well, that was the plan, of course, but . . .’ Dad stammers. His eyes dart around the room while he thinks of the best way to drop the bombshell I can feel is coming. ‘But it won’t be today or tomorrow, I’m afraid.’

‘Today or tomorrow?’

He can’t be serious. I really thought he’d changed.

‘I got a call driving back from the airport,’ he explains. ‘This gem of a job has come up, Calum; it could seriously set us up. I swear this will be the last time – one last job.’

‘Until the next “gem of a job” comes up, that is,’ I snap. ‘I believed you, Dad. When you said you’d stay home because of me, I was stupid enough to swallow it.’

‘I meant every word of it, son.’ His face drops. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was genuinely feeling bad about it. ‘I don’t need to do the dodgy jobs now for money like before. Me and Angie are sharing the bills now, and things are much easier. I’m only going to be taking work on that’s above board. No more dodgy stuff.’

‘Then why are you doing this job?’

‘I’d already agreed to it – and besides, it’ll help us get our heads above water once and for all. Just means me driving to France for a couple of—’

‘France?’ For as long as I can remember, Dad’s next job is always going to ‘set us up’. Of course, it never turns out to be as lucrative as he’s hoping.

‘It’s just some stuff that needs to be collected and brought back to the UK,’ Dad says, as if he’s just going down the road and I shouldn’t be making such a big deal about it.

‘Not drugs, I hope, Pete?’ Sergei says, his face lined with concern.

I want to laugh but I’m annoyed with Dad and I don’t want to let him think he can squirm out of a proper excuse.

‘Give me some credit, Sergei.’ Dad frowns. ‘Not drugs, no.’

‘What then?’ I demand. I’m sick of Dad’s bluffing and half-answers. He’s my dad. I should know how he earns money. He’s already admitted it’s dodgy; he might as well spill the beans.

‘Designer handbags, if you must know,’ Dad replies.

If anyone asks, just tell them I’m in imports and exports, I remember Dad saying.

Then it hits me.

‘Dad, are these handbags counterfeit?’

Dad looks up sharply from eating his doughnut.

‘What does this word mean?’ Sergei asks. ‘Counterfeit?’

‘It means fake,’ I say, looking at Dad. ‘And fake designer handbags aren’t just dodgy, they’re illegal.’

‘I’ve been stupid, I know that, but I don’t need you telling me what to do.’ Dad stands up, his face red and his jaw clenched. ‘This is the last one. I mean it this time.’

He throws a twenty-pound note on the table before stuffing his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and walking out of the room.

I hear his bedroom door open and then he’s rifling around in the wardrobe. The familiar sounds of Dad packing a bag filter through to the living room. My heart sinks.

A few minutes later he’s in the doorway.

‘I’m off now, back tomorrow evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, eh?’ He walks a few steps to leave, and then turns back when Sergei calls his name.

‘What about Calum? I mean, what if he needs to go to hospital again?’ He looks fearfully at my leg. ‘I will have to call Mama if there is an emergency—’

‘No need to tell your mum about this, Sergei. I don’t want her worrying about you two, on top of everything else. She’s got enough on her plate.’ Dad gives me the thumbs-up. ‘Calum will be fine – won’t you, lad?’

‘Doesn’t sound as if I’ve got much choice,’ I say with a scowl.

Dad winks at us from the door, his bad mood already forgotten. He raises his hand and then he’s gone.

Sergei looks at me, confused. ‘Mama has a plate?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s just a way of saying your mum has a lot of worries on her mind at the moment.’

‘I see,’ he says. ‘This British way of speaking can be complicated.’

I can’t argue with that.

I listen as the back door slams, and a few minutes later Dad’s diesel van coughs into life.

Sergei is chewing noisily with his mouth open – ‘clapping’, Grandad used to call it. I put my own doughnut down and stare at the wall.

Two full days with nothing to do apart from listen to Sergei eating noisily, and it’s still only the first week of the summer holidays.

Somebody kill me now.

The next afternoon, I’m reading A Kestrel for a Knave when my phone buzzes with a text.

I snatch it up, thinking it might be one of the lads finally getting in touch.

Will ring in 5 mins. Dad.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Dad hardly ever calls me when he’s away unless he’s going to be delayed on a job. And it’s my birthday tomorrow.

I answer on the first ring.

‘I’m sorry, lad, but I’m stuck on this job. Any luck, I should be back Thursday evening.’

‘OK.’ I can hear the disappointment in my own voice, but I should be used to it by now.

‘We’ll celebrate your birthday at the weekend, I promise.’ Dad is speaking too fast, like he can’t wait to get off the phone. ‘We’ve got some big problems here and I can’t get—’

‘Dad, it’s fine.’I sigh. I’ve heard all his excuses before. ‘See you when you get back.’

‘Good lad.’ Dad sounds relieved. ‘Tell Sergei again he needs to keep shtum about this. No need for Angie to be worrying while she’s away.’

Dad ends the call and I sit for a few moments staring at my phone.

Sergei comes through with two glasses of milk.

‘It will be fine,’ Sergei says when I tell him about Dad’s call. He takes a long slurp of his milk, leaving a ring of froth around his mouth. ‘We will survive, Calum.’

‘It’s not your birthday that’s going to be cancelled,’ I point out, feeling miffed.

‘No birthdays will be cancelled while I am in charge,’ Sergei says firmly.

I scowl at him. ‘Who said you were in charge?’

We stare each other out for a few seconds and then, for no reason at all, we both burst out laughing.