He said it almost fraternally, the message now received and understood, the masculine order re-established. He returned to his vehicle, the same jaunty walk. Job done.

Joe watched him go. How difficult would it have been to put a fist into that face? And if a fist, why not a pencil? In the right circumstances, why the hell not?

‘Right,’ he said, settling down in his seat, ‘maximum twat-face.’

He turned on his indicator, folded his arms and sat back to watch the scene play out in front of him.

The young man had got back into his car. But he was now twisting impatiently in his seat as he waited for Joe’s car to move. It didn’t. Then the door flew open again. This time he was more stompy than jaunty, and he came fast.

‘What’s yer problem? Back up or I’ll…’

Something took Joe’s attention. The entrance to the car park was just ahead. A black BMW pulled up on the corner. He pressed the button and wound the window up as he watched Karen Cullen get out of the Beemer. Meanwhile, the shouting from outside became more agitated.

He kept his eyes on her as she made her way up the short driveway. By the time Joe had got into reverse, the bloke outside was actually bawling at the window, the tendons on his neck strained, his whole body in an Incredible Hulk stance, as if he was about to lift the car up and hurl it out of the way.

Joe backed up a couple of feet, all the time watching Karen Cullen, who walked quickly, her face pale and determined. Hulk was now storming back to his car.

‘The pencil is suddenly a very understandable option,’ he said as he waited for the car in front of him to reverse into the available space.

By the time he’d found somewhere else to park, Karen Cullen was at a window table nursing a portion of chips and a Coke. The place was full. Mainly families, although on closer inspection most of the kids were with one parent, not two. And the parents themselves looked so disengaged with their children that it appeared that they were deliberately ignoring them. They’ll leave, he wanted to whisper in their ears. They’ll grow up, and one day they’ll just vanish from your life.

Karen Cullen saw him as soon as he walked in. She watched as he made his way through the spontaneous kindergarten that took up much of the central area of the restaurant.

‘You beat me to it,’ he said, slipping into the seat opposite.

‘Had a bit of aggro in the car park?’ she said.

Her eyes were slightly red, and she had lost what little colour there had been in her cheeks.

‘You saw that?’

‘I don’t miss much.’

‘I’ll take that as a good sign. What did you want to see me about?’