Priest looked across. The three men moved towards them, led by the smaller man, the one who had shouted. He had a towel draped over his shoulder and a dark tattoo around one eye that made him look like a cyborg. Priest felt Georgie shrink behind him.

‘I’m looking for the lockers,’ Priest announced, drawing himself up to his full height and making sure they got a good look at him. He was maybe a stone lighter than the biggest of them and alarmingly outnumbered but he wanted them to see he was unperturbed.

Mims didn’t say anything. She just stared at the locker key. ‘Is that number six?’ she asked warily. ‘He’s got a locker key, Benny. Number six.’

Priest watched as the one called Benny advanced on them until he was close enough to prod a stumpy finger in his chest.

‘What you want, big man?’ Benny demanded.

‘The lockers,’ said Priest evenly. ‘Just the lockers.’

It was three on one and Benny didn’t seem like he was in the mood for talking. Then there was Georgie to think about. She had backed away so she was as close to the nearside wall as she could get but one of the gang had positioned himself between her and the door. She looked across and Priest registered the fear in her eyes. He remained calm, relaxed, made sure that Benny wasn’t in his face but without backing down – a situation he had been in plenty of times before, although it had tended to be as a policeman rather than a lawyer. Everything was now a finely balanced dance – one foot wrong and . . .

‘Gimme the key,’ Benny instructed. Then, when Priest didn’t answer, he roared the same request, ‘Give me the fucking key, prick!’

Priest glanced across at Georgie – her face was ashen. Then back at Benny, into his small bloodshot eyes.

Doesn’t look like there’s much choice.

It was over in a matter of seconds without anyone, save for Priest, understanding how. Benny was sent sprawling backwards, Priest’s open hand striking his chest with such force that Benny’s lungs were evacuated of air in a fraction of a second. Predictably, the closest of Benny’s accomplices lunged forward in retaliation. Priest ducked underneath his attacker’s uncontrolled punch, wedged his knee between the confused man’s legs to use as leverage and sent him flying into the third accomplice, who toppled over like a skittle into a squat cage.

Priest surveyed the damage. Benny was winded and unlikely to be a problem for the next few minutes. The one he had tossed over his shoulder was nursing a gash in his head. The third man lay in a crumpled heap inside, his head resting on the weights, motionless.

He turned back to the blue-haired girl who was stood with her mouth wide open.