But no: he had to know it had happened. He needed confirmation. His plan was to turn up the stereo as soon as the men arrived; turn it up loud to drown out the sounds from below. He didn’t even know if there would be noises. Maybe the men worked in silence – pointing guns, whispering threats and promises. He had no idea how they worked. The thing was, he couldn’t imagine either Lucy or Chris giving in easily. They were fighters, that was certain. They would no doubt try to stand up to the men. That would be their mistake.

After the visit, and confirmation from them that the visit was a success (and he hoped to see a FOR SALE board appear outside the basement flat very soon), he would wait until morning and then call Kirsty to tell her the good news. He couldn’t wait. In just 48 hours, this would all be over.

His appetite had come back. In fact, he was ravenous, as if all the days of abstinence were catching up with him, and his brain had suddenly discovered that his stomach was empty, apart from that boulder of dread. He drove to the supermarket and used his cash card to withdraw money from the hole in the wall. He saw his balance on screen and gulped. E.T.N. hadn’t paid him for his final month: his penalty for not giving notice before he left. Chris had probably been involved in that decision. He had just enough to stock up on food. Still, that was OK. Kirsty would be back soon. She was on extended sick leave now, as she had explained when she phoned him, but she was still being paid. And when she came back he would feel well enough to go out and find another job. It wouldn’t be too hard for someone with his skills and experience.

He pushed the trolley round the supermarket, buying all the things he liked but that Kirsty disapproved of: Pot Noodles, TV dinners, packet pasta that just required milk and water to spring magically into edible form. He bought a carton of 200 cigarettes and a large bottle of vodka. He handed over £100 and got 73 pence change. He had just enough petrol in the tank of his car to get home. He was now officially broke.

For dinner he heated up a foil carton of macaroni cheese and washed it down with a glass of neat vodka. He ate crisps and watched television. He didn’t pay much attention to what was on. His mind was elsewhere.

His mind was on Friday.

On Friday morning he went out into the hall to check the post – nothing for him – and bumped into Mary.

‘Hello,’ she said, looking him up and down in a way that made him realise he still looked a mess. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’

‘No. I’ve…been busy.’