The dog was straining on its leash now, scenting the air. Its huge jaws were clamping down, making snapping noises. Kelly stood by his car in the deserted block and watched as the man took off the lead and let the dog run into the garage, closing the door behind it.

By the time Tony Jones realised what was happening, one hundred and twenty pounds of muscle had already launched itself at him.

Kelly and Willy drove away to sounds of his anguished screams. The dog’s owner was rolling himself a cigarette. He waved to them cheerfully as they drove off.

George had dressed and left the hotel at eight thirty-seven. He could not relax tonight. Even the book had done little to make him feel better. His mother had upset him so much. He drove around for a while, his head whirling with the things she had said.

His father had not been dead. He remembered only a tall thin man with dark blond hair and a smell of tobacco about him. George remembered sitting with the man on a large easy chair. Then one day he had gone.

His earliest memory of his mother was of her picking him up and kissing him on the mouth, holding him to her tightly even though he had wanted to get away. Her arms had been like steel bands around him.

He shuddered.

A car hooted its horn and he broke out of his reverie to find that he was at a roundabout. He pulled away and took the first turning. He looked at the signpost and saw that he was on the A26 going towards Maidstone. That was how upset he was. He had been driving, unaware even where he was going.

Only his mother could upset him like that.

He pulled off at the slip road that led to Nettlestead. It was half past nine. George drove along slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

Then he saw a woman about thirty yards in front of him. She was standing by a large Range Rover, actually flagging him down!

George pulled up behind her and wound down his window. Cynthia Redcar rushed towards him, her large man’s parka blowing open as she ran. She had been stranded there for thirty minutes.

‘I say, I’m awfully sorry to trouble you, but my car’s gone on the blink.’

George saw white teeth and abundant black hair. She had a long jawline and anyone looking at her would guess that she was a ‘horsey’ kind of person.

‘Could you please take me to get some help? I must phone my husband, he’ll be worried sick.’ She smiled at him again.

‘What seems to be the trouble?’

She pulled the parka around her slim frame and grimaced.

‘I don’t know a thing about cars, I’m afraid. It just cut out and died on me. Oh Christ, here we go again.’ She ran back to the Range Rover at the sound of a child whimpering.