Tony nodded, aware the gesture was futile. He wanted to tell his father that he had been right, the night of the funeral, when he’d spoken to Tony about the futility of revenge. And he wanted to tell him that he loved him, wanted Alice to say the same to her father. But the words struggled in his throat; he’d not done it before and knew his father would think it strange now. Would worry. So instead he contented himself with his usual. ‘I’ll head on so. Talk to you later.’

‘All right, son. You’re sure you’re OK?’

‘I’m all right, Da.’

‘All right, then. Speak soon. I love you.’

The comment threw him. By the time he’d responded, the line was already dead, his words lost.

He drove back to Foxbar one final time and parked at the shops, now closed up for the evening, the kids all gone. He watched across at Alice’s house, saw the bedroom light go dark.

‘Just get it over with,’ he muttered.

He got out of the car and sprinted across the road, pulling up his hood again as he did so. He climbed over the low fence of one of the houses along whose backs he was moving and cut through their garden and out onto the street. He was on the opposite side of the street from Alice’s house, about a dozen houses up from it.

He walked down towards the house, scanning the cars parked along the street, lest Duggan was already there. But each vehicle was empty.

He paused, once at the bottom of Alice’s driveway, building up the courage to take the final steps. He shoved his hands in his pockets, took a few slow breaths, trying to steady his nerve.

Just then a pool of light spilled onto the drive as the front door opened and Alice’s father stepped out, two empty milk bottles in hand. He wore a pyjama top over brown cords. He stopped when he saw Tony, frozen mid stoop. One bottle slipped from his fingers and clattered hollowly onto the step, rolling onto the one below where it shattered.

The noise forced Tony to act. He moved up the driveway, even as the man stood and rushed back inside, his face drawn in terror, misunderstanding Tony’s presence on his doorstep this late at night.

‘Mr Hamilton,’ Tony said. ‘I’m a teacher in Alice’s school. I need to talk to you.’

‘I’m calling the police,’ the man said, already closing the door, but Tony managed to to wedge his foot in the gap and prevent him shutting it completely.

‘Please. You need to let me in.’

The door opened a crack further, the man still holding his weight behind it.

‘You need to let me in,’ Tony said. ‘Please. You have to trust me.’

‘Mr Canning?’