The man came right up to Kane, fury in his eyes. The Saint at the back said: “Fuck’s sake. Let’s go.”

The boy tried to move, then grunted in pain as the short subcontractor punched him once, hard, in the side of the head. The corporal was close enough for Kane to smell the tobacco on his breath.

“Get out of here.”

“Okay,” Kane said. He gave a placatory smile, backed off an inch, then slammed his forehead into the bridge of the man’s nose. The man stumbled backwards, hands going up to his face. Kane caught his wrist and turned it so that the man let out an involuntary scream, sinking to his knees.

“Get the fuck off me.”

The other two stared as blood began to gush from his nose.

“Get off the kid,” Kane said to them. They took a step back, leaving the boy on the ground. The corporal got to his feet, looked at Kane. Kane spread his arms. Next round meant putting the man out of contention. He suspected the cartilage was weak and a second strike at the face could be excruciating. But he didn’t want to kill the guy. Maybe take the legs out, get him on the ground again and fuck with him psychologically. Sensing something troublingly composed in Kane’s stance, the man seemed to think twice about prolonging the encounter.

“You’re a dead bastard now,” he said, walking backwards as if only the turning indicated surrender. He smiled through the blood. When he reached the other two, they continued as a group back into the darkness.

Kane helped the boy up. He got a good look at him for the first time: a mop of curly, fair hair, a smattering of acne, a child’s narrow shoulders. His lip was torn, the right side of his face grazed, nostrils caked in blood. Kane found the boy’s trainers but he struggled to put them on.

“I’m okay.”

Kane watched him pick up the bike and try to walk.

“Fuck.”

He let the bike fall and sat down, removing his right shoe. It was filled with blood.

“Let me see your foot,” Kane said.

Kane gripped the boy’s ankle and plucked a sliver of glass out. It was bleeding heavily.

“You’re going to need a bandage on that before you can do anything. Can I give you a bandage?”

The boy nodded.

“All right to come with me?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Connor.”

“Connor, I’m Edward. I’ll try to get you cleaned up and you can go home. Try not to put weight on it.”

Kane put the boy’s arm across his own shoulders. He wheeled the bike with his free hand and they progressed back through the town. In the distance he could hear vehicles returning, wheels on gravel, some laughter.

“They stood on my knee. It’s broken.”