He hit me as hard as he could in the stomach with his other hand, and then doubled up in agony, each injured hand tucked beneath the opposite arm.

‘Aaaargh!’

‘Look, I’m sorry about this, but if you’d stop hitting me, you wouldn’t keep hurting yourself. Tell you what, I wish we were sitting down in your living room.’

The room was a bit of a tip. Empty beer cans and pizza boxes all over the place. I was sitting on an armchair on top of a plate with crumbs on it, which I had to move out from under me. Old Man Bartrum was on the sofa opposite, staring at me with a combination of fear, hatred and bewilderment.

‘How did you do that?’

‘I’m Awesome Man. It’s all in a day’s work for me. Listen, I want to talk to you about Scorpus. From what I hear, you treat him very badly. You don’t give him any dinner money and he has to buy his own clothes.’

‘That’s none of your business. And it’s all lies.’

‘Is it, Mr Bartrum? Is it?’

‘Why don’t you go away before I smash your face in?’

‘Look, can’t we just discuss this sensibly? What’s the matter with you?’

‘I’ve got anger management issues,’ Bartrum said. ‘That’s what the prison psychologist told me.’

‘Did they? And what did you say?’

‘I didn’t say nothing. I clocked him on the snotbox.’

I sighed. How was I ever going to get through to him? ‘Look, you’ve got to start being nicer to your son, and your wife, OK?’

‘I haven’t got a wife.’

‘Well, your girlfriend or whatever. You gotta be nice to them.’

‘I’m always nice to them.’ He looked at me with big sincere eyes. ‘I’m a good person, I am. Deep down.’

‘Is that right?’

‘I tell you what,’ Bartrum said, suddenly completely changing his manner and smiling at me, his gold tooth glinting. ‘Do you want a cup of tea and a biscuit? I got some Hobnobs.’

I didn’t really want tea and biscuits, but it was the first sign of reasonable behaviour he’d displayed so I thought I’d better go along with it. ‘All right then. Thanks.’

He went out into the kitchen.

I called after him. ‘I just came to say, you’ve got to start treating your son better. Look after him, you know? Also, your girlfriend. I hear she’s scared of you. That’s not a healthy relationship, Mr Bartrum.’

All I could hear from the kitchen was the sound of rummaging around in cupboards.

‘Are you listening to me, Mr Bartrum?’

‘Oh yes, I’m listening. It’s very interesting, what you’re saying.’

Then he ran out of the kitchen with a frying pan in his hand and smashed me over the head with it.