Liam thumbs the wheel to click on the White Stripes. ‘Seven Nation Army’ begins to thump in his ears, and he feels the music filling his bloodstream. Unlike his clients (that word gives him a tiny buzz), he doesn’t need chemical help to enjoy a good tune on a night out. But thank God for the ones who do, the Jessicas and the Henrys, who have basically been imprisoned by their pushy parents until now, when they’re given this intoxicating new freedom.

Liam has worked hard at carving his niche. Generally, the student body keeps its drug use within its privileged walls, with the students themselves dealing the odd bit here and there. Since that girl died, literally frothing at the mouth, at the Junction a couple of years back, some of the colleges have been taking more notice. The press made a lot of the nastiness of how she died. That was a bad business, but the stuff she took was one and a half times the normal strength. Liam is careful.

He knows how to strike the right note between offering these twats a walk on what they see as the wild side, and offering reassurance, telling them that this stuff isn’t cut with any of the ‘rubbish’ you get from other sources. He also knows students tend to like powder too, so has become adept at crushing pills. Won’t be long until it’s coke they’ll be hoovering up like snow ploughs once they start working in their City jobs. But Liam doesn’t deal coke that often.

He’s almost out the front door when he feels a hand on his arm.

He yanks out his earphones and sighs.

‘What is it? I’m going out.’

His dad is in his customary eveningwear of vest, trackie bottoms and glowering eyebrows.

‘Didn’t you hear your mum calling just now?’ he says.

‘Looks like I didn’t.’

A muscle twitches in his father’s cheek. He prides himself on being some sort of tower of patience, but really, he’s always on a rolling boil.

‘Well,’ his father says with exaggerated patience, ‘she wanted to know if you would like some apple crumble. She shouted about ten times.’

Liam can sense that Mum is hovering just inside the kitchen door; not wanting to inflame a situation but eager to be involved.

‘Tell you what, Ma,’ he says, loudly, ‘will you save me a bit for later? I’ll have it when I get back tonight.’

‘Okay, lovey,’ he hears from the kitchen and he gives Dad a look that says, ‘See? No biggie.’ He knows Mum doesn’t mind being ‘Ma’ but for some reason it irritates his father.

‘So where are you going tonight?’ Getting to the point at last.

‘I’m almost twenty years old, Dad,’ Liam says as pleasantly as he can. ‘See you.’