“Haven’t bloody started it yet, have we? Our manager’s still haggling over the contracts. Hence that crappy pile of junk you saw outside.”

“I was expecting a Jag or a red sports car.”

“Soon, Dad. Soon. By the way, we’ve changed our name.”

“Why?”

“The manager thought Jimson Weed was a bit too sixties.”

“He’s right.”

“Yeah, well, we’re The Blue Lamps now.”

“The police.”

“No, that’s another band. The Blue Lamps.”

“I was thinking of Dixon of Dock Green.”

“Come again?”

“The Blue Lamp. It was a film. Fifties. It’s where George Dixon made his debut before it became a TV series. A blue lamp used to be the sign of a police station. Still is in some places. I’m not sure you want to be going around associating yourself with that.”

“The stuff you know. Anyway, our manager thinks it’s okay, more modern—you know, White Stripes, Blue Lamps—but I’ll tell him what you said. Our sound’s hardened up a bit too, got a bit more grungy and less slick. I get to play some real down and dirty guitar solos. You must come and hear us again. We’ve come a long way since that last gig you were at.”

“I’d love to, but I thought you sounded just fine then.”

“Thanks.”

“I saw your grandparents the other day.”

“Yeah? How are they?”

“Same as ever. You should visit them more often.”

“Oh, you know how it is.”

“No. I don’t know.”

“They don’t like me, Dad. Not since I screwed up my degree and joined the band. Whenever I see them, it’s always ‘Tracy’s doing this and Tracy’s doing that.’ They don’t care how well I do.”

“You know that’s not true,” said Banks, who suspected it probably was. After all, weren’t they the same way with him? It was all Roy, Roy, Roy, no matter what Banks achieved. He’d had a hard enough time reconciling himself to his son’s chosen career, just the same way his mother and father had with him. The only difference was that he had come to terms with Brian’s choice, whereas his own parents hadn’t even come to terms with his career, let alone their grandson’s. “Anyway, I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try to go and see them when I’ve got time.”

“How’s your mother?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

“Seen her lately?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

“How’s she doing with the…you know…It must be due soon.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, Dad, is there anything to eat? I haven’t had any dinner yet, and I’m starving.”

Banks thought. He’d eaten a prawn sandwich earlier in the Queen’s Arms and wasn’t particularly hungry. He knew there was nothing substantial in the fridge or the freezer. He looked at his watch. “There’s a Chinese take-away down in Helmthorpe. They should still be open, if you like.”

“Cool,” said Brian, finishing off his lager. “What are we waiting for?”

Banks sighed and reached for his jacket again. So much for quality time.