He hung his wet clothes on the radiator and got in the bath. He sat in the bath with the scissors and cut most of his hair off, so there were just a few clumps left, sticking up in ugly clumps on top of his head. He shaved, nicking himself a few times but ignoring the pain and the blood that dripped into the water, where hair and stubble floated among the foam. He got out, smothered himself in talcum powder and pulled on a set of clean, dry clothes.

He waited.

At half-seven he found himself standing before the window, looking out at the dark road. He had been working out, and his muscles ached pleasantly. He ran his hand over his scalp, thinking how strange his hair felt. He wondered if Kirsty would like it when she saw him.

The minutes trickled by. Seven thirty-four. Seven forty-one. He made himself a coffee and scrolled through iTunes again, trying to decide what to play when the men arrived.

Seven forty-eight. Seven fifty-four.

He waited.

Eight o’clock arrived and there was no sign of them. He wasn’t worried. In fact, he had expected them to be a little late.

By half-eight, he began to wonder if they had got stuck in traffic.

By nine – when half his fingernails were gone, chewed up and spat out – he felt thoroughly sick and a cold, clammy sheen of sweat covered his body. Should he phone them? He didn’t want to piss them off. They had probably just been delayed somewhere. Maybe they had another job to do.

By half-nine, he had started to wonder if they had definitely agreed on eight o’clock. Had they actually said ten? The man had spoken in twenty-four hour clock, and Jamie was sure he’d said twenty-hundred, but maybe he’d said twenty-two hundred. Yes, that must be it. He relaxed a little. But only a little.

He realised he was standing in the dark, and had been for several hours. He wished he’d gone out after all. Except he didn’t have any money, and he would have got home expecting the job to be done…and what if it hadn’t?

What if they weren’t coming?

He sat down. It was now ten-thirty. He knew, with sudden and sickening conviction, that he had been conned, taken for a ride. They should have been here two-and-a-half hours ago. He bent over and his stomach spasmed. He ran to the toilet and threw up. He had been fucked over. For £10,000.