There was a knot of youths by the lamp post at the far end of the Close; I slowed down for a second, wondering whether to turn back. But they were looking towards the jazz club in the basement at Number Seven; someone was trying to cut loose on the trumpet but still was in Leddersford blowing his lungs out on a piece of brass; he hadn’t cut loose into pure sound, he hadn’t made music, and the grass still grew between the cobblestones and the close still smelled of cabbage and rancid cooking oil. And the expression of expectancy on the faces of the youths didn’t alter. It was as uniform as their style of dress. Bootlace tie, Slim Jim tie, blue suède shoes with crêpe soles, black leather shoes with brass curb chains, tapered slacks, tight jeans, jackets halfway between raincoat and shirt, jackets with tinsel woven into the fabric – none of them wore the same outfit, but the effect was as if they did. Disquietingly, they all wore crew-cuts. They were a gang, they were expecting to enjoy something to­gether. I came closer to them, I hoped they wouldn’t smell the fear on me. I walked on past them; they stopped talking for a second and stared at me. I forced myself not to look back or run; after the alley came Webb Street and the only way out of Webb Street was Humber Stairs. One thing was certain; they’d be able to run faster than me.

But they weren’t interested in me. They were laughing about something. “Right up,” I heard one say. “Black bastard. I’ll f—g well show him. And that sodding little whore—”

“You show him, Killer. You show him.” It was like a Greek chorus.

“I’ll shove that f—g trumpet right up—”

I saw a policeman in Webb Street. He gave me a quick cold glance, then went into Ingerton Close. Councillor Lampton would have put him in the picture about Killer and his friends; but I wasn’t Councillor Lampton yet.

Humber Stairs were very steep and the steps were worn and uneven; I took them slowly, keeping close to the iron handrail. Though the day had been cold and dry the handrail was warm and greasy to the touch. I quickened my pace; soon I’d be home, and Leddersford and two hundred miles of travelling would be soaked away in a hot bath.

I got into a taxi and, my eyes half-closed, gave myself up to the thought of the hot bath and sleep.