Jack opened the carrier bag and peered inside. There, bloodstained and covered with the cat’s tabby hair, was their bread knife. He knew it was theirs because it had a white bone handle – it had been Mary’s mother’s and she treasured it. Sometimes, as she cut up a loaf, she would remark at how long the knife had been in use and how it must never go into the dishwasher, but be cleaned lovingly by hand.

Now it had been used to kill this poor child’s little pet and, staring into the blood-stained carrier bag, Jack Callahan felt the rage boiling up inside him. The wicked, feral little bastard. That he was capable of something so heinous, so barbaric was unthinkable. Yet the knife was there, and the only person who could have taken it out of this house was James.

Young Tyrone was looking at him with the sad, soulful eyes of an honest boy, and Jack knew he was telling the truth. Where was the culprit though? He must have heard all this commotion. Jack called his name out loudly and, when the boy didn’t appear, he went into the front room. Lifting him bodily from where he was crouched on the sofa, he physically dragged him into the hallway.

‘Did you do this? Did you?’

James was terrified and, for a few seconds, even Roy Brown was almost sorry for the boy. Jack Callahan’s temper was legendary in their street – he didn’t go often but when he blew, he really lost it.

Snatching the dead kitten from Roy, Jack pushed the corpse into his grandson’s face, smearing him with blood and hair, all the time shouting, ‘You did this, didn’t you? You vicious little fucker . . .’

Pulling away roughly, James screamed, ‘It’s not fair! I wanted a kitten, that should have been my kitten! Not his bastard kitten . . . But no, I couldn’t have him, could I? Not me, I never get fucking anything off you bastards . . .’

The blow, when it landed, knocked James across the hallway and into the small table where they kept the phone. The table collapsed, and the phone was sent sprawling along with the boy, who was now attempting to cover his head, protect his skull from the rain of punches that was being administered by his granddad.

Eventually, Roy Brown stepped in and pulled Jack off, shocked at the severity of the beating. He could see that if it went on for much longer Jack would surely kill the child. The hallway was spattered with blood. Roy looked at Mary Callahan and, seeing the utter horror on her face, he wondered if he could have perhaps handled the whole situation better somehow.