One of the kids snorts, but the clatter of his controller doesn’t slow down; apparently Mark isn’t worth that amount of distraction. As Mark listens to the throb of gunfire coming from the TV, he feels the air around him grow heavy. He knows he should just go home to the squat, celebrate scaring the bitch with his note and fall asleep on the couch. After years of working for him, Jon never stopped being wary of Rudy, so that should tell him something.

But he’s pissed off that no one is taking an ounce of blame for Jon’s death. ‘Thought you’d appreciate the warning, your smack killing people,’ he mutters.

‘What are you saying?’ Rudy asks, his voice gruffer now. He tilts onto his feet and takes a few steps towards Mark. Their noses are almost touching.

‘And maybe a sorry would be nice.’

Rudy shoves Mark hard in the chest. Mark lists backwards, and it’s as though the movement wakes him up. What the hell is he doing? Why is he riling this guy? He reaches out to steady himself, but there’s nothing to grab on to, and he stumbles backwards himself, falling onto the rancid carpet in front of the sofa. He can hear the kids laughing now, dropping their controllers, the real-life violence unfolding in front of them finally enough to warrant their interest.

Mark lifts his hands to his face, palms up, part protection, part surrender. He sucks in air as Rudy’s foot connects with his ribcage. More kicks rain down, a heavy trainer against his ribs, his hip bone, the backs of his legs. He draws his knees into his chest, and pushes his face into the carpet, the stench of piss rising up his nostrils. The guy could pull a knife any moment, puncture his lungs or heart. He could bleed out on this floor. The images flood the backs of his eyelids as he prays for it to stop.

And finally, thank fuck, it does.

‘Now get up,’ Rudy growls. ‘Get out of my flat. And don’t ever disrespect me like that again.’ He kicks Mark again, a final warning.

Mark flips his head around, grimacing with pain. Then he rolls onto his shins, a knoll of damaged flesh, and gingerly pushes up to standing. He’s shaking like an addict in withdrawal and his torso is throbbing with pain, but the adrenalin is still coursing through him. Even now, fear and aggression want to duel.

‘Are you still here?’ Rudy asks, his eyes smirking now he’s reasserted his status.