Nelson drummed his fingers on his knee. He liked the way they sounded against his polyester policeman’s trousers. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could discuss politics.’

‘Bollocks to that,’ replied Number 22.

‘Books?’

‘I don’t read books. What’s the point? None of it ever happened, people! It’s all made up!’

‘Do you watch television?’

‘Nah, fifty thousand channels and nothing on, know what I mean?’

‘Do you travel much?’ asked Nelson.

‘I go to Norwich once a month,’ he conceded. ‘To visit my Aunt Ida. She had a fall a while back. Broke her hip.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Nelson. ‘Is she recovering?’

‘No. It’ll see her off in the end, fingers crossed. Save me the train fare every month. She says she’s leaving the house to me in her will, so I’ll play friendly until she pops off, but if she doesn’t, then I’ll feel like a right mug. You watch the footie?’

‘I’m not much of a sports fan,’ said Nelson. ‘Although I do enjoy Wimbledon when it’s on.’

‘Wimbledon’s for poofs,’ said Number 22. ‘All that mincing around with royalty and strawberries and cream and pints of Pimm’s. Can’t be doing with it. I used to follow the England football team on their away matches, but I’m not allowed any more. I got banned.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Nelson, not sure that he wanted to know why.

‘Do you want to know why?’ asked Number 22.

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Nelson.

‘Because of your lot.’

‘My lot?’

‘The police. Well, the German police anyway. They stitched me up. They still haven’t got over the war, have they? Any chance to throw an Englishman in jail overnight and they take it. You know what I’d like to do to them? I’d like to line each and every one of them up against a wall and—’

‘I don’t think that’s a very healthy attitude to take, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Nelson.

‘You what?’

‘It’s just, when I see riots on television after international football matches, I always feel sorry for the police who have to try to keep the peace. And people like to criticize them, but if your sister was walking home alone one night and a man jumped out at her from behind the bushes and, you know, tried to attack her, then you’d be very happy if a police car went by, wouldn’t you?’

‘Are you having a laugh?’ asked Number 22, leaning forward now.

‘Or if your house was broken into,’ continued Nelson, warming to his theme. ‘Who’s the first person you’d call? Your local social worker? The parish priest? Ghostbusters? No, it’s the police, isn’t it? They provide … we provide an invaluable service, and yet people like you criticize us and call us names.’

‘Fuck me,’ said the man, shaking his head. ‘And I don’t mean that literally, Romeo. But I’ll tell you this, I respect you for standing up for your profession. I do. We’ll have to agree to disagree, but you’re not a bad fella, are you, Number 37?’