Gavin’s brow furrowed and his lips moved silently for a few seconds. “Sandra?” he said. “No, she’s Deputy Night Fill Assistant Supervisor.”

“Jesus Christ. And that’s a job, is it?” Hoon asked, then he tutted and tapped the sheet of paper Gavin still clutched in one hand. “Forget it. Go on.”

The Junior Manager stared blankly, like he had no idea what the other man was talking about, then he remembered where he was and what he was doing. He checked his next question, before reading it out loud in his best managerial voice. “Why did you leave the police?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Hoon demanded.

Gavin had expected the interview to go off the rails again, just not quite so soon. He blinked several times in quick succession, like something in his brain was doing a reboot. “Well, it’s just a question I have to ask.”

“Why?”

“Well, because…” the interviewer began, but he went no further. Because that’s what they told me in the training, suddenly didn’t feel like an answer that would satisfy the man asking the question.

“Let’s just say we had a difference of opinion,” Hoon said, sparing the younger man the effort of finding an acceptable explanation. “And leave it at that.”

Gavin smiled and made a quick note. “Works for me!” he said, relieved to be moving on. “Why do you think you’re suited for a customer services role?”

“You tell me,” Hoon said, which prompted a confused smile from the Junior Manager.

“You’re… you’re meant to tell me,” he explained. “That’s sort of the point.”

Hoon rolled his eyes. “Right, well, my sunny disposition. How about that?” he asked. “And I fucking love dealing with people. Can’t get enough of the dead-eyed, cow-brained, graspy-handed, self-serving pricks. The more the fucking merrier. That answer your question?”

Gavin wrote a note made up exclusively of question marks, then replaced the lid on his pen, crossed his hands on the desk and smiled graciously.

“Well, I think I’ve got everything we need,” he said, thrusting a hand across the desk. “Somebody will be in touch.”

Hoon ignored the hand. “When?” he asked.

“Once we’ve made a decision.”

“Which will be when?”

Gavin withdrew the offer of a handshake and stood up, signalling the interview was over.

“When we’re ready. Please, I have other appointments, if you could just…” He looked pointedly at the door. “Please. We’ll be in touch.”

Hoon leaned back in his chair, ran his lips across his teeth, then nodded. “Aye. Fine. Thanks for your time,” he said. “You know who I worry about, though?”

The Junior Manager didn’t quite know how to respond to the question beyond a puzzled, “What? I mean, no. Who?”

“Sandra.”

“Sandra?”

“Aye.”

Gavin shot another look at the door. “Why are you worried about Sandra?”