He can see him thinking about Mary's secret visits. Men get powerful jealous, like heat-seeking missiles, fucking destructive. Best left well alone. Mary wasn’t interested really, she was crazy about Harry. She’d just popped round like, something ordinary. He’d looked at her. What he really wanted to do was waltz in the middle of the room with her. Harry had given him that look. That ‘You may lie, and I may sigh, but I know, and you know I do.’ He should have shut the fuck up. It was dumb to say stuff. But Harry wasn’t right anymore. He was all riled up. The night had spread into a blanket of madness and Denzel thought they’d never come right, so they just ran on.