‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a total idiot. I’ve been in this business long enough to know how it works. But I’m not a nasty old dinosaur either and I resent being treated as one, which is why your receptionist annoyed me so much. The real problem is, Angela doesn’t want to break up with me. She’d prefer that I left Beverley and went to live with her instead.’

‘That’s unfortunate,’ said Jeremy. ‘It means that she might cause trouble.’

‘Which is why I’ve come to see you. Because, if it’s at all possible, I should like to avoid trouble.’

‘I think the best thing would be if you left it with me for a while,’ replied the solicitor. ‘Let me have a think about how best to proceed. How does that sound?’

‘Right,’ said George, standing up. ‘I suppose that will have to do for now. But remember, I want to do the right thing. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ agreed Jeremy as his phone buzzed again and he reached for it.

‘You’re popular,’ said George, making his way towards the door. ‘Having a little fun on the side too, are you?’

‘No, no. Nothing like that,’ he replied, laughing nervously. ‘Just someone I met recently who … well, yes, I suppose it might resemble something like that. I mean, nothing’s happened, as such.’

‘Well, be careful, that’s my advice to you. Don’t find yourself in the same position as I have. Keep it zipped.’

GOAL

Nelson walked quickly along the edges of the playing field, filled with dread that the football might come his way. And then, naturally, it did, one of the boys kicking it with such an extraordinary lack of precision that it floated over the heads of the other players and flew across the pitch, landing only a few feet from him. He glanced towards the pitch, hoping to see one of the boys running towards him to retrieve it, but no, they were standing in a group, their hands on their hips, calling to him to send it back their way.

Nelson had never been any good at sports and lived in fear of moments like this, when he would inevitably be shown up in front of others as lacking in the basic skills that other men seemed to have instilled in them from birth. The only thing that lay ahead of him now, he knew, was humiliation. If he kicked the ball back to the players, it would inevitably fly over his head in some tragic boomerang movement, breaking one of the windows of the music rooms behind him. But if he refused to engage with it and hurried on his way, he would be left looking ridiculous. To make matters worse, Martin Rice appeared from the front doors of the school at the same moment, lighting a cigarette and grinning gleefully when he saw the scene that was playing out before him.

‘Well, kick it back to them, Stupidly,’ he shouted. ‘Break’s nearly over. They want to finish their game.’