‘Alex Bailey.’ Alex shoved the rolled copy of the Daily Express into the back pocket of well-worn jeans, and rubbed his face tiredly. I had the uncomfortable notion that the paper he’d just pocketed was the copy that had originally attracted me to Malcolm Bailey. A strongly worded article on the reasons behind male-on-female domestic violence, and the rights that Bailey felt the perpetrators deserved, despite their criminal actions.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I lied, offering Alex my hand now. He didn’t want to take it, I could tell, but eventually good manners overcame his anger. ‘Are you the owner of the building? It’s amazing.’ Desperate now, I tried flattery.

‘Hardly. I’m just the architect.’ He didn’t look like an architect. He looked like a workman. ‘One of them, I should say.’

‘Pa’ ignored us both, looking at the fag-packet I clutched. ‘You don’t smoke, do you, Maggie? Tut tut. Not a nice habit for a young lady. We don’t like smokers, do we, Alex?’

‘Oh, only occasionally, you know.’ I shoved my cigarettes away. Tiredness was slowing my brain, my grandmother’s delicate coughing frame my main concern. I didn’t have the energy for a bully like Bailey right now, and this situation with his furious son was making me nervous. They’d obviously been arguing about my show. I’d built my career on coolness; on the ability to keep calm in a stressful situation. Axe-murderers, paedophiles, soapstars – I’d met the lot without so much as stuttering. So it was bizarre that I was struggling right now. As I tried to collect my thoughts, Malcolm’s gaze penetrated me like Clark Kent’s X-ray vision.

‘What can I do you for then, Ms Warren?’

I cleared my throat, wishing his son’s eyes weren’t boring into me like two yellow flints. ‘Well, Mr Bailey,’ I began my pitch, ‘it’s more what you might like to share with us.’

‘You’re desperate to hear my thoughts, you mean.’

Another statement. Unconsciously I took a step nearer his son, who considered me for a moment before heading towards the door. Then he stopped, running a hand through his short dishevelled hair so it became a mountain range of tufts and spikes.

‘Actually, you know what,’ he turned back. ‘I’ll join you, shall I? I’d love to hear what exactly my dad’s got to say.’

Oh, marvellous. I forced a smile as Alex grinned at me, his strong face illuminated suddenly, his eyes shining. ‘And I’m dying to know how you’re going to persuade him.’

‘Right. Well, yes, of course, please do join us.’ I managed to hold the false smile as I followed the two men into Bailey’s office. The fact that at least one of them possessed some kind of morals was small help. I felt exactly like I was off to face a firing squad.