Heaven's Light by Graham Hurley

adverts, spun dreams, earned pots of money.
    Kate raised her glass. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Here’s to D-Day.’
    Charlie responded at once. His glass was empty. ‘Fuck D-Day. Here’s to the revolution.’ He was grinning again.
    There was a long, awkward silence. Then Charlie got up, stretching his arms wide. He was tall, taller than Barnaby, and the sunlight through the big sash window caught in his hair, gilding it. He shot Barnaby a meaningful look and said he had to move on. He’d catch up later. There was sure to be word from Jess. He crossed the room, heading for the door, and Kate listened to the clatter of his footsteps on the stairs and the crash of the door as he stepped out onto the street.
    ‘Interesting-looking man,’ she said absently, settling into the chair in front of the desk.
    Barnaby was standing by the window, watching Charlie thread a path through the afternoon traffic. Kate could hear his whistle through the open window, a tune emptied of everything except a kind of manic jauntiness. Barnaby turned back, making no effort to sit down, and Katethought again how pale he looked. Not just vulnerable but exhausted. She glanced around her. The shelves of leather-bound legal books. The rows of carefully indexed Law Reports. The piles of annotated typescript, hole-punched and threaded with green fasteners.
    ‘How’s it going?’ she said. ‘I should have asked yesterday.’
    Barnaby looked round as if he’d never seen the room before. ‘It’s going fine,’ he said. ‘It’s a struggle, of course, but that applies to pretty much everyone. Nothing’s easy any more, as I’m sure you know.’
    Kate ducked her head, hiding her face. When she looked up, Barnaby was staring out of the window again. ‘It’s none of my business,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t help wondering.’
    ‘Wondering what?’
    ‘Jessie.’ She ran her finger round the top of the champagne glass. ‘Nothing the matter, is there?’
    For a moment Barnaby didn’t answer. When he finally turned round, pulling the chair towards him and sitting down, there were tears in his eyes. He put his head in his hands, then reached out blindly when he heard the scrape of her chair as she got up and stepped round the desk.
    ‘She’s a junkie,’ he whispered. ‘She’s sick.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, turning away his head. Kate bent over him and put a hand on his shoulder, telling him how sorry she was. She’d no idea. He should have told her. Yesterday. At the health club.
    ‘I didn’t know,’ he said, his face contorting again. ‘Can you believe that? Months and months of it and I didn’t bloody know. What kind of father does that make me? Eh?’
    He didn’t wait for an answer, accepted the proffered tissue, blew his nose and shook his head angrily as if something had come loose inside. Kate retrieved the champagnefrom the table beside her chair and held it out. Barnaby looked at the glass. ‘That’s no answer,’ he said, ‘but thank you anyway.’
    ‘It’ll make you feel better. I promise.’
    ‘You think so?’
    He gazed up at her, that same imploring look she saw on some of the clients she counselled. Tell me it won’t hurt any more. Tell me the pain will stop.
    ‘It’s going to be OK,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly.’
    ‘You mean that?’
    ‘Scout’s honour.’ She bent to him, kissing him lightly on the forehead. He reached for her hand again, holding it tightly. Then he took a deep breath, cleared his throat and made a show of pulling himself together. She’d obviously come for a purpose. He was sorry about being so emotional.
    ‘Don’t be.’ She held his hand a moment longer, then stepped back towards the chair, Barnaby watching her as she sat down. He looked, she thought, utterly bereft. ‘I’ve got a problem too,’ she said brightly. ‘But I feel embarrassed even mentioning it.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘It’s about…’ she frowned ‘… Billy.’
    ‘Billy?’
    ‘Billy