He walked until the end of the road, turning left. On the corner there it was. The billboard. ‘GO OR BE SENT.’ A pair of cuffs, two masked ICO, blank eyes threatening their street, the world. The dark, smoky background, the red flowing river. Danny spat on the ground, walking faster. He would have spat on the poster but Dad said they’d swab his DNA and he’d be arrested, so he couldn’t. He hated that billboard. It was the billboard that made Uncle Rick mouth off in front of Dad about dodgy neighbours, the billboard that made Dad’s fist connect with Rick’s jaw and caused him to fall, knocking over his glass of lager and Michael’s cup of blackcurrant juice. If the billboard hadn’t gone up Rick wouldn’t have screamed like he was crying, or sworn he’d make ICO get the lot, pakis, blackies, all of them. If it hadn’t been for that billboard Dad wouldn’t have gone over to the Sharmakes and said whatever he’d told them, or started crying late in the night, Danny’s mum whispering quick and trying to shush him while they thought the boys were asleep. If it weren’t for the billboard his family would be a family.

He passed the central alley behind their house and heard screaming. He looked at the floor, focused on his trainers and tried to block it out. He murmured a song from the radio, concentrating on the words so hard he didn’t see the ICO by the alley entrance.

‘Oi.’

He looked up, breath caught. The officer was tall and bloated, a thick double chin hanging over his collar. He leant against a wall, picking his teeth with a thin bit of wood.

‘Don’t look at me like that, runt. Wha’ you doin’ out so early?’

‘Paper round.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

The screams climbed to a higher pitch. A man in so much pain he sounded like a girl. Like Rick. He heard laughter, a cackled group of whoops like a party. Dad was probably awake. Sitting up in bed, trying not to listen. Maybe looking for him.

‘What, can I go now? Gonna be late f’my round.’

The screams, the thin scratch of wood against enamel. His pulse, a dull drum in his head.

‘Go on then, piss off.’

He bit his tongue and walked fast, muttering swear words at the pavement. A slab of van shot past, screeching to a stop. Raised voices and calls to battle, the clatter of feet on concrete, but Danny never looked back. He walked to the end of the road, opposite the park gates, turning left. At the end of the block he turned left again.