They were in the lounge, weather dripping from their jackets on to the shitty carpet. It needed replacing, but so did everything. The hotel was dying on its hole. Nick told them to sit, and they each took a leather chair by the street window. The chairs were too big for them, the leather creaky with disuse. Gerry climbed on to the chair on his hands and knees like a dog before righting himself in the squeaking seat. He had a gunked lip, a yellow plume on his cheek, a nostril rimmed with crusting red.

Nick looked at his little brother.

‘Stop being a fucking prick,’ he said.

Gerry slumped down. Nick saw that he was dazed. The adrenaline churned up by the fight had all ebbed away. Nick remembered the feeling; the rinsed muscles, the warm quiver of shot nerves. There was no point interrogating Gerry as to what had happened, or why. It didn’t matter. Someday, someone was going to beat sense into the little shit, and Nick knew only that it was not going to be him.

‘I was flat out here,’ Nick said.

Pell dabbed at her wet nose with the cuff of her, ­no – it was Nick’s combat jacket.

‘I know,’ she said.

‘You know what I’m like with the fucking phone. But next time give them my number.’

‘You’re not going to answer.’

‘No. But let that be those cunts’ problem. That’s what they’re paid for.’

Nick glanced at the bar clock.

‘Sean, be a doll and get the kitchen to fix this ­pair – what you want? Chips, burgers?’

‘Curry chips and a ­quarter-­pounder with cheese,’ Gerry said immediately.

‘Pell?’

Pell was looking out the window.

‘The same.’

‘My lunch ain’t due till three, but I can probably clear out before that,’ Nick said. ‘Eat that shit first and I’ll drop you home.’

Nick went back through the kitchen and out again into the alley. There had been a minute left on his smoke break, and, with the sensation of tears boiling behind his eyes, he smoked that minute out.

‘Bambi on ice,’ Nick said.

He was driving, Pell up front beside him. Gerry was in the back, asleep, or feigning it. All the morning’s excitability over, the little wanker was enjoying the bonus of having the afternoon off and the additional impending idleness of however many days of suspension the school decided to slap him with. Pell was brooding, chin tucked into her shoulder, eyes fixed out her window.