‘Oh, don’t go on, not in front of the young ’un! It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Right as rain.’

Rita got to her feet. ‘I shall leave you boys to it. Duty calls.’

‘I run a haulage firm these days, Henry. Just half a dozen wagons, but it keeps the wolf from the door. Mind you, Rita does most of the work.’

‘Only until you’re fit and ready.’

Collingworth nodded and smiled. Rita made a little wave. ‘It was very nice to meet you, Henry.’

‘The same.’

Once his wife had left and they heard the front door close, Jack Collingworth’s mood changed. First of all he asked about the scar. ‘A recent addition?’

‘It is.’

‘The line of duty, I suppose?’

Hobbes nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Collingworth had already helped himself to another slice of cake, and he spoke with crumbs on his lips. ‘I can’t believe they haven’t promoted you yet, those bastards. Is this to do with that business earlier this year, after the Brixton riot?’

‘Probably, yeah.’

‘Aye, I read about it in the Mirror. Dreadful. But did you do the right thing, blowing the whistle?’

‘I guess.’

Collingworth grinned. ‘You’re like that man in the fairy tale.’

‘Which one?’

‘The pauper who sees a big lump of excrement on the road, and instead of walking on like anyone else would, he bends down and picks it up and carries it into the palace and presents it to the Queen, saying, “Your Majesty, I do believe someone has taken a dump on the royal road.”’

Hobbes couldn’t help smiling.

‘And I can’t believe I managed to tell that story without swearing. I must be getting soft.’

‘Rita’s had a good influence on you, I can see that.’

Collingworth nodded, but his expression darkened. ‘Exposing police corruption. Never a good career move.’

‘And being corrupt is, I suppose?’

‘Aye, well, we can’t all be squeaky clean.’

Hobbes felt his anger burning. ‘You taught me! You taught me how to be good.’

‘I did. It’s true.’

‘And all along you were taking your own share.’

‘Not all along. And you know that. Only later—’

‘You let people off, for services rendered.’

‘No one serious.’

‘Christ. The old excuses.’

Collingworth raised his voice. ‘Things changed. In my life. I had some … difficulties. I needed money to sort them out.’

Hobbes made to reply. He couldn’t believe they had got off on such a bad footing. ‘Jack, I’m not here to—’

‘To what? To rake over old coals?’ Collingworth grunted. ‘Because, Henry my lad, I really don’t give two shits and a squirt of piss what you think. Oh, sorry. I’d better put something in the jar for that. Rita empties it at the end of the month and spends it on the slot machines.’

Clink.

Clink, clink.

He stood up and walked to the window. Hobbes joined him there, and for a moment or two they looked out at the scenery.

‘You don’t have a fag on yer, do you?’