Will detects a shuffle of feet behind him. He moves himself, ensuring his back remains turned on all the attackers. But he can feel it too – what Danny’s saying. Inexplicably, there’s still a part of Will that wishes he could turn round and fight. That same sense of defeat, of cowardice, nags at him like it did that night in Smugglers. Even knowing now what a nonsensical bit of theatre this is, a part of him still wishes he could be involved – that he could Be A Man here.

‘Please just get in the car,’ Will whispers. Tears pour from him. ‘Please.’

‘Fuck off,’ Danny croaks, shiny spheres bulging in the corners of his own bloodshot eyes.

Will pushes himself against his brother, half hugging him. ‘No. Let’s go home. We should go home.’

Danny remains rooted to the spot, his muscle-bound body resisting the weight that Will leans against it. ‘I’ll fucking do you as well, Will,’ he spits. ‘Don’t think I won’t.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Will whispers.

Danny shoots a look past Will. His attackers have moved away. Their aggression has melted into amusement at Danny and Will’s expense.

‘I think it’s over,’ Will says. ‘Let’s go.’

He’s right. These guys have won. They smirk with satisfaction. The show is theirs. There’s nothing to fight over now.

‘Go on, fuck off home,’ Beige Mac says.

Danny barges against Will, eyeballing the group.

But they only laugh in response, already relishing their victory.

‘Please can we go home now?’ Will says again.

‘Nighty-night, pussies,’ Tracksuit Boy shouts as Will scampers into the back of the car, clinging to Danny’s arm. Danny’s hand drips with blood as he fumbles with the ignition.

‘I can’t believe you,’ Danny snaps. The tyres howl as they swerve through the pillars and out on to Coast Drive.

‘Sorry,’ Will mumbles.

He knows that what he just did saved Danny from being stabbed. It’s possible he saved his life. Without Will’s intervention, without that note, Danny would be in serious trouble right now.

‘I fucking hate you, Will. You fucking gay boy! A man fights!’ Danny thumps the steering wheel. ‘And if he can’t fight, he stands.’

‘I know,’ Will says. ‘Sorry.’

‘At least fucking stand!’

Why doesn’t it feel like I’ve done the right thing? Will wonders. Danny’s escaped largely unscathed. Why do I feel like I didn’t play the hero, when actually I’ve saved his skin? Are you a hero if no one knows what you did?

‘Can you stop the car please?’ April says, looking at neither of them.

‘It’s all right, I’ll drop you home,’ Danny says, his tone suggesting he thinks he’s being magnanimous. He’s driving recklessly: engine screaming, sawing at the wheel, no seat belt.

‘Stop the car,’ she says, firm this time.