‘I’m on my way, Khan Baba,’ he said. ‘She got held up at work. I will call you as soon as I have collected her… Yes, Baba. Salaam.’ He never knew how much detail to give the Khan. He didn’t want to say anything to upset his employer, especially in this case, since he was collecting his daughter.

The concierge had been right: the location was not far. A young man in a high-vis vest waited at the entrance to the street named on the parking stub. Michael showed him the paper and he waved him on and down towards what looked to be a vacant plot. As he got closer, he counted ten cars parked up, each one worth more than his house. He felt ill at ease as he left the car park. Even if he achieved his dreams of becoming a surgeon, he was unlikely to live the kind of life on show here.

The attendant was waiting for him and recognised the look. ‘Obscene, in’t it?’ he said. ‘There’s people visiting food banks and these guys get to live like this.’ They walked on through a tunnel of wet cobblestones the colour of copper when it rusts, towards the light and roar of a crowd. The passageway opened out into a courtyard. A sign on one of the walls dated them as Victorian.

‘What is this place?’ said Michael.

‘A private venue – for those in the know,’ the attendant replied, tapping his nose.

‘This must be some party.’

‘That ain’t exactly what I’d call it,’ said the young man, as he led him towards a door into the warehouse.

The smell of sweat and the taste of iron hit Michael hard as the metal door swung open. A crowd was gathered around a huge cage that stretched around ten feet high; inside it, two bloodied men were pummelling each other. ‘Ms Khan is at the front, on the right,’ said the attendant, pointing.

A solitary woman stood in a sea of angry men, their adrenaline-fuelled fists punching the air, their faces contorted as they roared, and hers no less so, possibly more. Her dark hair fell across her face, her voice was strong, echoing as she shouted to the fighters, telling them to punch harder, move faster. Michael felt the crowd around her blur out, and when she came into focus, she was primal, her pull so strong that he couldn’t stop looking at her.

‘How did you know I was here for her?’ he asked the attendant.

‘None of your beeswax how I know. She’s been coming here for years. She’s paying for my little brother’s posh school. Proper bright, he is. Anyway, I can’t stand here yapping. My shift’s nearly over – bit like this match,’ he said, as one of the fighters slumped to the floor.