Ben Delaney had not been involved directly with the case, but it seemed his name – along with the names of several other businessmen, investors and high rollers – had been found in a list of contacts on one of the defendant’s mobile phones. Now that was interesting. Ben had not been called as a witness in the case but had subsequently been contacted by the Echo to ask if he had any comment.

Mr Delaney said he was a member of the Mirage Casino’s platinum lounge and played poker tournaments there several times a year. He said: ‘I know a lot of the staff there. They know me. That’s all I’ve got to say.’

I read further down the story.

Beecham, a doorman at the Mirage Casino on Bridge Street, Sunderland, is alleged to have told a witness that ‘doing some c***’s kneecaps costs £500. For a grand I’ll put him in a f****** wheelchair.’

The case continues.

I googled ‘Steven Beecham court’ and a new page of results appeared: he had been found not guilty of the GBH charge and had walked free two days later. He was pictured outside court, a death’s-head grin on his face, flanked by two thick-necked friends.

The bell rang and I checked my watch. It was time for the last lesson of the week.

SATURDAY

12

I sat poolside on a hard plastic chair and watched William’s swimming class as they splashed and kicked and doggy-paddled from one side of the shallow end to the other, the smell of chlorine and wet towels hanging in the warm air. The swimming teacher stood waist-deep, urging the kids on, a T-shirt over her swimming costume to hide her modesty from the line of Saturday Morning Dads sitting by the side of the pool. William was not a keen swimmer but was willing to be bribed with chocolate after each lesson. We had an arrangement. I watched him kicking his little legs and felt a familiar glow of pride.

There was one kid in his group who didn’t swim at all. He just walked up and down, working his arms breaststroke-style, pushing off from the bottom every so often so he could overtake all the other kids – the ones who were actually swimming. He beat them to the side every time.

‘Why does that boy walk instead of trying to swim?’ I asked William later, rubbing his back with the towel.

‘Ryan?’

‘The lad with the blond curly hair.’

‘That’s Ryan.’

‘Yeah, him. He never actually swims.’

William nodded, studying his wrinkled fingers.

‘His mummy is the teacher and she says she doesn’t mind.’

‘Doesn’t she want him to learn?’

‘She says he can do it however he wants.’

‘Oh. But how’s he going to get better at swimming?’

‘His mummy says it doesn’t matter cos he’ll always have armbands to keep him safe anyway.’

I looked over at Ryan the curly-haired boy, being dried with a towel by his curly-haired mother. She was beaming at him, smiling encouragement, chatting as she dressed him.