‘Okay,’ I smiled, with beneficence this time. I was pretty good with small children. The boy folded up his crisp packet very tight and tiny and tucked it into one anorak pocket. From the other, he fished out a pretty little pill-box, all greens and blues and sparkles.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ I was enthusiastic, ‘isn’t it, Seb? Lovely treasure.’

Seb grinned politely. We started to walk on.

‘Do you want to see inside?’ The boy’s skin was like caramel, his cheeks a dusky pink as I looked down again, and shrugged. ‘Okay.’

The boy looked up at me, as solemn as the night is long. Then he wrenched the lid right off and thrust the box beneath my nose.

‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, and nearly threw up. Inside were three long and dirty yellow fingernails.

‘Wow,’ said Seb, peering down. ‘Impressive stuff.’

I managed to quell the nausea. ‘Are they yours?’

Devil-boy nodded. ‘They are now. But they were Sanjit’s. He didn’t want them no more. He gave them to me, and I gave him my Wayne Rooney poster, innit, cos I don’t like him no more.’

‘I see,’ I said a little shakily. ‘Well, thanks for showing us.’

‘Thassallright.’ The boy pocketed them again and, pulling his fluffy hood up against the morning chill, wandered off towards the chilly planes of Southwark Cathedral. Seb grinned at me, and for the first time that morning I felt a little more human.

‘Christ.’

The smile was instantly wiped from Seb’s face as we rounded the corner.

‘What?’ I followed his gaze to his car. His car that now had two, three – no, four, we saw as we circled it – flat tyres. He swore softly.

‘Oh God.’ I held onto the wall for a moment, bracing myself. ‘All four,’ I said numbly. ‘That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘A coincidence?’ he muttered darkly, walking round the car. ‘Don’t be stupid. Look.’ He pointed at the back tyre. A chisel lay in the gutter; a screwdriver with a great shiny red handle protruded from a tyre’s rubber skin.

‘Oh.’

‘The fucking bastards.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said rather helplessly. I kept staring at the chisel; at its worn wooden handle.

‘Yeah, so am I.’ He sounded all Midlands suddenly, his features set and stern, pushing his dark hair back with a quick angry movement – a Seb I’d not seen before.

‘I’ll pay for them to be fixed, of course.’

I’d only seen him smiling.

‘Maggie, babe, there’s no fixing this little lot. They’re fucked.’

‘Well, I’ll – I’ll pay for the new tyres.’

He came back round the car and pulled me gently towards him. ‘Why should you pay? Is there something I should know?’

I felt my skin burn. ‘No,’ I muttered.

‘I mean, did you creep out and slash them last night? Are you Secret Slasher Maggie?’ He grinned at me; finally, he grinned. I felt my legs go weak with shock and relief.

‘No, of course not.’