There was no reason to stop him. But they did. The flashing blue lights behind him told him to pull over. He waited on the side of the road. He’d not had dealings with the police, but he knew enough to stay polite and to answer any questions. He watched a policeman get out of the car and walk over to the Golf. Something about the way the officer walked betrayed his arrogance. Watching him from the rear-view mirror, Zan could see that he was grinning. Discomfort began to seep into him.

‘Well, aren’t you a good-looking one, eh?’ the policeman said, leaning into the driver’s side. A second officer had got out of the police car and was waiting just a few feet away.

Zan’s response came stammered: ‘Er…is everything OK, officer? We were just going home from football practice.’

‘The tread is worn on your back tyres,’ the policeman said.

‘That’s not possible, it’s a brand-new car!’ said Zan.

‘Are you saying I’m making it up?’ The officer’s voice was sharper.

‘No. No. I’m just… I…’

‘You know you need a driving licence to drive in this country?’ the officer said, waiting for him to take the bait.

But Zan knew better than to answer. Tight-lipped, he waited, acidity rising in his throat. He handed the policeman his licence. The officer looked at it with disinterest. ‘Come and look at the back tyre,’ he said. ‘You’ve been racing hard, haven’t you? The tread is gone. You can’t drive like that in this country, y’know.’ The blood rushed to Zan’s face. He climbed out of the car and walked to the back.

‘Over there,’ the officer said. He made him spread his arms and legs up against a cold, hard wall. The officer leaned in, his breath on Zan’s neck filled with a sickly nicotine gum smell, mixed with stale beer and stolen cigarette puffs. The policeman moved closer, patting him down, moving his hand deliberately up the boy’s leg and bringing it to rest on his thigh, his heavy belly pressing against his back. Zan felt the sickness rise from his throat to his mouth. It would never leave him.

‘You look a bit like my ex,’ he said. ‘He was Asian too.’ The officer grinned, revealing a gap where one of his top left teeth should have been. He whispered again, his mouth close to Zan’s ears. ‘Give great blow jobs, you Pakistani boys. Especially in handcuffs.’