As the journey progressed south into the city he found himself reflecting on the last few months. His initial buzz abraded by the memories of what had driven him to the previous night’s act.

Katie. Quite literally his sister from another mister. Mickey’s dad having been killed in a traffic accident when Mickey was ten. Riding his motorbike down the street and straight onto the lethal blade of a carelessly opened car door. Massive physical trauma, dead on arrival. His sudden death leaving his family just as brutalised, emotionally.

Mickey’s mum had gone through the full gamut of mourning over the space of a couple of years. While trying, and failing, to save her son from coming to terms with death and grieving earlier than was fair. Mickey going through a phase of being the quiet one in class. Withdrawn from the usual cut and thrust of the playground, where most of the real learning was happening.

The arrival of Terry in his mum’s life as Mickey turned twelve had been like sunrise through storm clouds. A gentle, older man, happy to take on a ready-made family. And, critically, to absorb Mickey’s anger at an uncaring world. And give him back the closest thing to a father’s love he could. To heal the open wound of his dad’s sudden death. Terry introduced him to boxing. A sport where he had no choice but to participate to the maximum.

Gradually, without him realising it, Mickey’s life came off hold. Normal service being resumed. And then rudely but joyously interrupted by the arrival of a baby sister.

Katie had been a revelation to Mickey. The realisation that it wasn’t all about him, for one thing. The power she had to beguile him for another. Always his little sister, even when he was past forty and Katie was turning thirty. Not planning to settle down any time soon, like so many of her peers. Telling Mickey and Roz that they were leading the way in married bliss. Elbowing Mickey in the ribs after a few drinks and telling him to get on with giving her nephews and nieces. Remaining steadfastly devoted to her nights out and clubbing. No steady boyfriend to hold her back. Or, as it turned out, keep her safe.

One Saturday morning, out of the blue, a uniformed skipper had come knocking at Mickey and Roz’s door. Doing the “serious face, can I come in please, sir?” routine. Instantly recognisable by Mickey from the times he’d had to do exactly the same. Treating him like a civilian, even though he knew Mickey was Job. Because, when it came to matters of family life and death, everyone was a civilian. Which put a shiver up Mickey’s spine unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Knowing immediately, instinctively, what he was about to be told.