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.’

‘Well then. What’s it to do with you?’

‘I dunno. I suppose I just thought –’

‘You mean, cos of the graffiti?’

I shrugged. ‘Well, someone’s got it in for me. Now it looks like they don’t like you much either.’

‘That’s true.’ Seb gave my fingers a squeeze. ‘But there’s safety in numbers, isn’t that what they say?’ He let my hand go and dug in his pocket for his phone. ‘I’d better get this sorted, babe.’

I didn’t tell him I recognised that chisel. That I was sure it belonged to Alex; that he kept it in a toolbox in the back of his old Land Rover.