‘Steady, old chap,’ said the man in the white coat, pushing him back down into the chair with a firm hand.

He was about fifty, with brown hair, and a chubby, friendly face. Porter had not seen him before. His head was spinning, and his legs felt sore and weak.

‘You’ve been under anaesthetic, and you’re only just coming round,’ said the man. ‘We haven’t got much time, so we decided to whisk you in here while you’re still under. My name is Peter Shaperio. I do some dental work for these guys. I hope you don’t mind me doing some work while you were still under, but since you were already out cold it seemed to make sense.’

Porter started to speak, but he could feel the numbness in his mouth. ‘OK,’ he said.

Not like I have much choice, he thought to himself.

‘You’ve got a lot of problems, I don’t mind telling you. I won’t ask how long it is since you last had a check-up, since I suspect I won’t like the answer. While you’ve been asleep, I’ve taken two teeth straight out. They are molars so you won’t miss them that much. We could do implants to replace them if you like, but there’s no time to do that before you head out of here. I’ve put another two crowns on teeth that needed to be reshaped. And I’ve got three fillings left to do before I’ve finished. So just lie back. We’ll only be another half-hour or so.’

Porter put his head back on the chair, and closed his eyes. He could sense the lights coming in down close to his face, and feel their heat on his skin, but he was feeling so tired, and so drugged up by all the anaesthetics, it was hard to concentrate on anything. He could hear the drill grinding into action, scratching away inside his mouth, but he felt nothing apart from a slight headache. The dentist had put some jazz on in the background – nice, light, relaxing music – to try and soothe him, but it wasn’t going to work. He was too hyped up. Too excited. It was impossible to relax, he reflected, when you’d just made £250,000 and you knew you might well die in the next forty-eight hours.

‘All done,’ said Shaperio, putting down his drill.

He offered Porter a glass of green liquid, which he swilled around his mouth, then spat out.

‘Normally I’d give you a lecture on flossing regularly,’ continued Shaperio. ‘But somehow I don’t think there would be much point.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Porter. ‘Thanks, anyway …’

He started to lift himself out of the chair, but his legs were weak. He was starting to wobble, and it was only with Shaperio’s help that he managed to steady himself. What they’d done to his legs in the operating theatre, he couldn’t be quite certain, but there was a bandage around both his left knee and his right foot. His head was dizzy, and his body felt as if he just come off the worst in a pub brawl. ‘You’ll be OK,’ said Shaperio, helping Porter to steady himself. ‘You just need some rest, that’s all.’