The sun cast a warm glow over the campus grounds as Grant rushed out of the building and across to his car, providing a sightly complement to the orange, red and brown hues of autumn colour in the many trees. Grant loved the old university campus, with its foliage and grassy fields and large traditional brick buildings, though on this occasion his mind was heavily distracted from the phone call with Mary.

He walked quickly around the groups of students milling about. He noticed eyes on him, people staring. Smirking too? He wasn’t sure. Grant always felt as though people were looking at him, that they whispered about him as soon as his back was turned. The ex-celebrity who’d faded from the limelight to be just like every other schmuck.

Or was it his field of expertise that marked him as an outsider? An oddity?

Perhaps it was all just in his head. His own insecurities showing through. These kids, after all, were probably still shitting in nappies back when Grant was a somebody; would they really care enough to even give two hoots about him now?

He reached the car park, took the key from his satchel and climbed into the driver’s seat of his battered Mercedes. He’d bought it new ten years ago and had never seen the point in changing it. The car did what it needed to do. People didn’t buy houses every couple of years (well, some cretins who liked wasting money did) and similarly cars weren’t a fashion accessory to Grant. They were a functional device and nothing more, no matter how much his wife had tried to persuade him to update.

The tired engine rattled to life and Grant headed out of the campus. As he drove away he became aware that he hadn’t told any of his colleagues where he was going, or that he probably needed cover for his next lecture. That would have to wait. He was too fired up, too distracted to deal with that now.

Grant found his way to the A41 then sped along, heading away from Birmingham and towards his house in the leafy village of Knowle. The traffic in the middle of the day was light and he was soon turning onto his street. As he approached, Grant saw the front gates to the property were open. He drove through and parked the car on the gravel driveway. Mary’s Honda was there, as was Ethan’s motorbike. Feeling renewed anger at the sight of his son’s loud and brash machine, Grant stepped from the car and crunched across the gravel.