Donna emerged from the car, looking around her helplessly. This wasn’t what she had expected. After Jamesie’s grand house she thought everywhere else would be the same. What on earth could they be doing here?

As they walked into the small block of flats they were nearly knocked flying by three teenage girls who ran through the lobby doors, laughing wildly.

The tallest of the girls said something unintelligible to Donna and the other two sniggered. Donna felt her face burning. Whatever the girl had said had been accompanied by a sneer as she looked Donna up and down like so much dirt.

Alan held the door open for her and she walked into the foetid warmth of the block. There were two doors on the first floor. Each had a black binbag outside, overflowing with rubbish. The tiled flooring was filthy; the stench of decay filled their nostrils. Propped against a wall was a child’s cycle and a large bag of cement. The bag was broken open and cement was strewn all around the floor. It had obviously been there for months. Alan knocked on a battered green-painted door and waited patiently. No one answered. He banged on the door again, harder this time. Donna could hear voices coming from the flat. Loud raised voices, one of them a woman’s.

The door was thrown open by a child of about nine. The boy had short cropped hair, a striped jersey, dirty jeans and a pair of Fila bumpers.

‘What?’ The child’s voice was harsh.

‘Is your dad in?’

He wiped his hand across his nose and looked Donna up and down before answering.

‘Who wants to know?’

Alan knelt down until he was the same height as the boy.

‘Listen, little hard man, is your fucking dad in or not? If he is, tell him Alan Cox is here. If he ain’t, give me the name of the pub he’s in and I might, just might, give you a couple of quid.’

The child stared into Alan’s face, debating whether to tell him anything or to keep his peace. He was saved from answering by the appearance of a small bull-necked man with the biggest beer belly Donna had ever seen in her life.

‘Hello, Alan, me old mate. Long time no see.’

His cockney accent was like balm to Donna after listening to the thick Glaswegian tones of everyone else. The child moved silently aside to let them pass.

‘Annie! Get the kettle on, girl, we’ve got visitors.’ He turned to Alan, grinning cheerfully. ‘You’ll have to take us as you find us. You know my Annie. She never was a one for clearing up.’