It was the other Islington.

Not the Islington where politicians eat their organic chicken and plot world domination, not the Islington where you can’t even think about buying a house for less than two million, and not the Islington that is handy for a job in the City.

This was the other Islington, where the council estates stretch on forever, rolling all the way down from Angel to King’s Cross, where the people with nothing live next door to the people with everything, and they don’t enjoy it very much.

I parked up across the street from a kebab shop on the Holloway Road. A purple VW Golf was parked outside.

‘They live in these streets,’ Whitestone said. ‘The Dog Town Boys. They’re walking around. I will see them. And they will see me, Max. They will see me with my beautiful boy. The one whose eyes they stole. Trey N’Dou and his friends will see him and they will laugh at us, Max. I know it. I know it. I know it. I’ll do something. If they laugh at us, I’ll do something, Max, I swear to God I will.’

‘Listen to me, will you? If you’re inside, you’re no good to your boy, are you? So you’re not doing anything, all right? Stop talking like that, Pat.’

She jabbed a finger at the shabby street.

‘That’s him. That’s the Dog Town Boy who did it. That’s Trey N’Dou.’

A man-sized youth swaggered out of the kebab shop, eating with his mouth open.

‘He’s the one who did it? You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?’

Hot tears were streaming down her face.

‘How are we to live, Max?’ she said.

I stood at the windows of our loft and watched Jackson coming home from Fred’s gym. He was clutching a pair of my old worn fourteen-ounce Lonsdale gloves to his chest.

It was late in the evening, still very light, and the good weather meant the pubs all had crowds outside them. Directly below me, down on Charterhouse Street, there was a group of lads, maybe about a dozen strong, larking about right in front of the entrance to our loft. Jackson was heading straight towards them. Four storeys down, I heard the sound of breaking glass and laughter.

I watched Jackson.

I watched the lads.

I steeled myself to go down and help him.

But he didn’t need my help.

They parted to let him through. They didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at them. But there was something about him that made them step out of his way. At the sound of his key in the door Stan got up and padded off to greet him.

The dog was all over him.