Sergei is in the kitchen, making lunch.

I glance at my phone on the arm of the chair and see that I have a voicemail message. I left it on silent so didn’t hear it ring.

The voicemail is from Dad.

‘I’m back later today. Listen, I’ve got to bring the stuff back to the flat, just overnight. It’ll be gone again tomorrow but I wanted to say, no more wisecracks about it being illegal in front of Sergei, OK? We don’t want to worry Angie about all this. See you later.’

By ‘the stuff’ I assume Dad means his haul of fake handbags. He’s never brought anything like that back to the flat before. I know it’s risky. If the police catch him with it here, they could prosecute him.

I decide not to mention it to Sergei.

‘Dad’s coming back later today,’ I tell him when he brings the sandwiches through.

He nods. ‘There is something I would like to show you this afternoon, Calum. Something I would like you to see.’

‘Fine,’ I say with a shrug, wondering what building he’s planning on making this time.

After we’ve eaten, Sergei helps me over to the settee and settles his mum’s laptop on his knees so we can both see.

‘I want to show you Warsaw, my home.’

I don’t really feel like looking at some scabby little village with no running water or electricity. There are other things I need to think about, like how I’m going to tell Dad that Angie has an older son called Janusz that he didn’t know about and who is currently banged up in Nottingham Prison for assault.

Sergei is my friend, but my dad . . . Well, family is family, right?

Sergei pulls up a photo on the screen. It shows a sprawling city at night. There is a big square with a tall monument in the centre. Little market stalls lit by tiny lanterns line the side streets, and the whole area is surrounded by beautiful buildings, most of them tall, with many floors and windows. The buildings are painted in different colours – terracotta, cream and green.

I point to a stunning building on the right with a clock tower and curved ornate decoration.

‘Ah, this is one of my favourite buildings also, Calum,’ he beams. ‘Zamek Królewski, the Royal Castle. It was built in the fourteenth century. Now there are many concerts held here, and some wonderful art inside.’

Sergei flicks through photo after photo, showing stunning architecture, a university, a presidential palace.

I shake my head slowly in amazement. ‘I thought you came from a little town with hardly anything but squirrels there.’

Sergei laughs out loud. ‘There are approximately two point seven million people living in Warsaw. It is hardly a tiny town. Much bigger than Nottingham.’

He tells me that most of Warsaw was flattened to rubble during the war and had to be completely rebuilt. That’s hard to imagine, looking at the impressive skyline there now.

‘But there is more to Warsaw than buildings. We have many forests there, too,’ Sergei adds, proudly showing me photographs of him and Angie sitting at a small cafe table, surrounded by trees. ‘And here is the Chopin monument at the Royal Lazienki Park.’ He points to another shot of himself posing proudly beside it.

He clicks on another photograph, and when it loads up he’s struck silent for a few seconds.

‘And this . . .’ he says softly. ‘This is home.’

It is a small, neat house on the edge of a pine forest. Sergei, Angie and a grizzled old man stand together outside.

‘This is Dziadek.’ He points to the old fella and his voice softens. ‘Our neighbour took the photograph just before Mama and I left to come to England.’

They are all smiling in the photo, but I know from what Sergei told me that it must have been a very scary time. They were all afraid of his father and what he might do next.

Sergei is showing me some photos of his best friend, Pawel, when we hear a noise at the back door.

‘Hello,’ Angie calls. ‘Surprise, I am home!’

She’s not supposed to be back yet. Dad is on his way with his illegal goods haul.

I hear her struggling in with her suitcase, and Sergei runs through to help her.

‘How is he?’ I hear him ask breathlessly as they drag luggage into the hall. ‘How is Dziadek?’

‘He is good, Sergei.’ She smiles when they reach the living-room door. ‘He is much better. I think he is going to be OK.’

Sergei hugs her, then turns to look at me, and I grin and give him the thumbs-up. His eyes linger on me a bit longer. He’s wondering if I’m going to tell Angie I know that Janusz is in prison.

‘And how are you, Calum?’ Angie walks over to me. ‘Are you also getting better?’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ I say. ‘My leg is still really painful but Sergei’s a great nurse.’

‘Ha!’ Angie laughs. ‘Perhaps this is your calling in life, Sergei. Not to become an architect of great buildings but a nurse.’

Sergei shakes his head, and grins, but his eyes keep darting at me, unsure of what I’ll do next.

I reach for my phone. I need to let Dad know Angie is home.

I text Dad several times but there’s no reply.

When Angie and Sergei are busy in the kitchen, I ring him. There’s no ring tone, it just goes straight to answerphone, which must mean the phone is off or he’s in an area of poor signal.

I’ve decided I’m not going to mention the Janusz situation to Dad by phone. Best to wait until he’s home.

But they’ll have to tell him as soon as he gets back. It’s only right.

Angie comes into the room and I know immediately, by the look on her face, that Sergei has told her I know about Janusz.

‘I am sorry you had to hear the news about my eldest son from someone else, Calum,’ she says, her eyes downcast.

‘It’s just . . . Dad. My dad should know about him.’

‘Of course.’ Angie nods, her eyes shining. ‘I should have told him right away, I know that. It is just that there was never a good time and I admit I was afraid he would tell us to go, to leave. And I really don’t want to leave, because I love your father, Calum.’

Blimey. This is all getting a bit too intense.

I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair and stare at my phone screen.

Angie seems to sense I’m embarrassed and goes into the kitchen. I send another couple of texts to Dad, but he still doesn’t reply.

An hour later, Sergei and I sit in the lounge while Dad and Angie are arguing in the kitchen over what Sergei says is a mountain of black bin bags filled with fake handbags.

‘I just don’t understand why you are dealing with criminals, Pete,’ I hear Angie cry out. ‘You are a talented man who can rely on his own hard work and skills to make money. And you could go to prison.’

A deathly silence falls in the kitchen. Sergei and I glance at each other.

And then Angie tells Dad. She tells him all about Janusz.