Jack stood in the center of the room as Dougie shuffled toward him.

“You’re a disrespectful little shit!” he shouted.

Dougie’s arms were doing far more work than his legs—they shuffled forward an inch or two at a time, unable to bend at the knees or ankles. Stairs would be impossible now for him.

As Jack was trying to work out what he’d actually done to cause such a change in mood, the door swung open.

“You all right, Dad?”

Gareth was a large man in his forties, good looking in a battered sort of way, with the flattened nose of a boxer. He was fashionably dressed in a three-piece suit, pristine shirt and coordinated tie—the exact opposite of his dad. Gareth clearly wasn’t remotely happy to see Jack in his dad’s office.

“Who the fuck are you?” Gareth guided Dougie to the old armchair as he spoke more gently. “What’ve I told you about leaving that side door open, Dad? You got to lock it when you arrive.”

Once Dougie was safely seated, Gareth’s focus returned to Jack.

“I was just asking your dad about Angela Dunn, Mr.—?”

“Don’t fucking ‘Mr.’ me. You ain’t after no upholstery review.”

“No. I’m after information on how she might have obtained a passport at short notice.”

Gareth took a step toward Jack. Jack quickly took his hands from his pockets in case he needed to defend himself. He instantly regretted this move, as it told Gareth that he was on edge and very aware of his own comparatively small stature. Dougie grinned from the comfort of the armchair. His boy had this!

“Oh, no, no, no—you ain’t talking to my old man about that bollocks. He’s fucking 84! He’s got angina. He’s a sick man, not your go-to snout. He ain’t well enough to be ambushed by some half-arsed copper. That is what you are, right? You’re a copper.”

“I’m not pressuring your father into anything—” Jack began.

Dougie interrupted. “He wanted to look in my safe without a warrant, son. I told him to leave but he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to disturb you by pressing the emergency button, but it got so I was scared to be up here on me own with him.”

As Gareth moved forward, Jack moved back, toward the door. He wasn’t scared, although Gareth did look like a handful, but he couldn’t afford to get into a fight with a civilian after he’d already been asked to leave their property.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Jack sang. “Don’t put a hand on me, all right? I’m going.”

“Move faster, then!”

Gareth walked at Jack, chest first, like an immaculately dressed, expensive smelling brick wall that was impossible to argue with. Jack backed off in time with Gareth, went out the door and down the hallway, toward the stairs. He’d completely forgotten about the stairlift, so when he turned to head down the stairs, he tripped over the footrest sending the top half of his body down the steps before his legs could untangle. He grabbed out in a vain attempt to save himself, caught the start button with his elbow and tumbled head first down the filthy stairs, all the way to the shitty doormat at the bottom. With his nose pressed into the floor and his eyes screwed tight shut, all Jack could hear was Gareth cackling and the slow whirr of the stairlift heading down to meet him.