‘Right.’ I looked at Darren Whiteside and he was sneering, chewing his gum. I walked over and looked down at his imbecille face. ‘Empty your pockets.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Darren, empty your pockets.’

‘Fuck you!’ He retreated to a corner of the deck and began to gabble. I couldn’t catch all of it. ‘Like she’d miss it? Look at her — got so fuckin’ much she don’ even know when it ain’t there. What’ve I got? Eh? I got a girlfriend ‘n’ a kid tellin’ me how ‘ard it is — like I don’ fuckin’ know! She gives the kid to me and says I should look after ‘im and off she goes. An’ you, fuckin’ deaf-aid, you fink you’re somethin’, doncha? Just cos you’re big and deaf you fink everyone loves ya. Well, you can fuck off!’

‘I’ve called the police, of course,’ said Psychobitch.

‘You don’ know what it’s fuckin’ like.’ Darren’s spittle spotted the untreated deck. ‘Sittin’ up there in your fuck-off house in Clifton. You always ‘ad it so easy. Fuckin’ deaf-aid.’ He spat at me, his thin cheeks blowing, and he missed, of course, the globule of sputum landing near Harpy’s foot, staining the wood. ‘You’ve always had it so fuckin’ easy.’

I watched the two of them as they ranted, each complaining about how their lives had worked out, commenting on the ease of my life, commenting on my ignorance of sacrifice. I thought about Darren Whiteside’s child — how was it that he had a child? What had he been thinking of? Come to that, what had my father been thinking of? When he left my mother, when he left the flat they lived in while my mother gave birth — what had he been thinking of? What had gone through his mind?

Darren and Psychobitch ground to a halt and I shook myself.

‘Martin — uh, Darren,’ I said, ‘empty your pockets.’ And he did, knowing that at the end of it all, when everything was wrapped up and sealed away, he would still be a pitiful spike with a kid and girlfriend who wore her hair in ringlets, bunched on her head, dressed in the same uniform of Umbro shell-suit. The haul in his pocket was a strange collection: some jewellery, a small porcelain egg, a silver-framed picture of Psychobitch on a beach and an unwrapped cake of Elizabeth Arden soap. Looking at this pile of objects I realised that he’d taken them simply because they were there. Unless he thought the soap would work miracles on his acne. Ian arrived as I turned the soap in my hand.

I turned to Psychobitch and handed her the sad pile of swag. ‘Mrs Harpy, I can’t apologise enough. This has never happened before. I’ll replace any money stolen and reimburse you for any other losses.’

‘Of course you will,’ she said, and went into the house.

Jimmy tapped my shoulder. ‘Police are here.’

Two constables walked on to the deck, one speaking into the walkie-talkie pinned to his lapel. The other looked at Darren and sighed, crossing his arms. ‘Well, hello, Darren. What you been doing this time?’