My legs are stiff when I climb out of the car at Bournemouth. We pedalled back at such a furious pace that my legs were burning by the end of it and being cooped up in a car where I couldn’t stretch hasn’t helped.

‘You OK?’ asks Joel.

‘Old bones.’

He smiles, the first one since he got the phone call. He spent most of the journey nervously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I’ve always thought of him as being laid-back but now he’s anything but.

From the outside, the police station looks more like a media outlet, all modern and light.

Joel pauses and he turns to me.

‘I guess we just go in?’ he says, and I nod back with reassurance, even though I’m a bit scared. I feel like we’re on the way to the headmaster’s office about to be told off.

When we get inside it looks exactly like it does on every TV drama. Joel approaches the desk clerk to tell him why we’re here, and he points to a waiting area. We go over and sit on the uncomfortable plastic blue chairs and wait.

After about ten minutes, Douglas is led out. He looks even more dishevelled than usual. He’s still wearing his work suit but his tie has gone and his shirt is untucked.

The officer who’s accompanying him takes him to the desk, where he’s handed a clear bag with his wallet, phone and shoelaces. He thanks the officer and they shake hands, before he sits down next to Joel and starts to lace up his shoes.

‘Wanna talk about it?’ asks Joel.

‘Not here,’ he says, letting out a deep breath.

He makes a right meal out of rethreading and lacing his shoes. His hands are shaking and he keeps having to put his head upright, and I wonder if it’s too much for him being bent over with his hangover.

‘Here,’ says Joel, sliding off his seat and batting his hands away. ‘Just try not to be sick on me whilst I do it.’

I lean over and give Douglas’s hand a squeeze whilst Joel laces up his shoes. He shuts his eyes tightly and I can tell he’s trying not to cry.

Laces tied in double knots, we nod a little goodbye at the desk clerk and shuffle out. Douglas winces at the bright sun that’s now risen high in the sky.

‘When was the last time you ate?’ asks Joel.

‘I don’t know, yesterday lunchtime?’

Joel tuts and he walks across the road. I’ve never seen him this angry before, and I put my arm through Douglas’s and we follow Joel into the café opposite. It’s the kind of café that serves big fried breakfasts and I can imagine it does a roaring trade being so close to the police station.