“You could,” Donald agreed. “Or I could kill you and eat your liver for dinner?”

The laughter was a bit too loud, a bit too appreciative. He didn’t want their sympathy. He just wanted – he just wanted – no, he was absolutely not going to cry in front of the lads, he’d never hear the end of it –

“What else?” he demanded. Beneath the table, he tried to press his nails into his palms. But he’d already bitten them down beyond the quick.

“Boss.” Donald tapped on the door.

“Donald.”

“Need a word.”

“Sod off and stop disturbing me. There you go, that’s… four, five, six.”

“I’m serious.”

Harry beckoned Donald into the room. “Let’s have it.”

“The Blue Croc job. I can’t take it.” Harry’s flinch of annoyance wasn’t quite covered by the sympathetic smile. “Childcare problem. Sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “These things happen. I’ll call Ricky.”

“Ricky? That little prick?” The whisper overheard in the Gents, the poison dripping in his ear. He’s lost the fucking plot.

“What? He’s available. He wants the job.”

“He told you that, did he?” Angry even though he couldn’t justify it.

Harry frowned. “Why do you care anyway?”

“He’s not ready.”

“No-one’s ever ready. He’ll have to step up.”

“The Croc needs calming down, not stirring up. Ricky’s spoiling for a fight.”

“Maybe a fight’s what we need. The Brixton boys are getting cocky. About time we showed them they’re on our radar.”

That rattled him. He’d always handled The Croc. He took pride in keeping things smooth. The door staff knew they could call him when things kicked off. He kept an eye out for the girls, too, making sure they got as much respect from the punters as was possible when you took your clothes off and shook your tits and bits for a living.

“Anything else you need, mate?” Harry was clicking his pen against the desk, a sure sign that he’d had enough.

“No, nothing else. Look, I really am sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, these things happen. Take the time you need.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“I said don’t sweat it.” A moment’s hesitation, then an evil grin, like in the old days. “You sure there’s nothing else I can do for you? You getting lonely at night? You want to bend over the desk and I’ll do you up the arse?”

“Wash your filthy mouth out,” said Donald, grinning back.

Driving to the school, his Mercedes sliding all slick and smooth through the dusty traffic, he tried to make himself care about what would be going down at The Croc. But his heart felt light and empty.

Alicia was sitting outside the school office. He could see her through the glass doors. Whenever he’d been collected early it was because he’d done something terrible, and his mother would chivvy him home with little slaps and pushes and he’d know he was in for a proper walloping when they got home. Alicia was never in trouble. A good girl. Took after her mother, not her father. What else had Ellen passed on to her? Please God let these things not be hereditary, let her live her life without having to face that hell. Her face was streaked with tears. As soon as she laid eyes on him, her lip began to quiver and within moments he was kneeling in front of her while she howled into his shirt front.