Nick’s heart palpitated. It seemed to beat far too slowly, and then three times as fast. ‘I’ll call you whatever the hell I like, and you can leave my son alone. Your son’s the bully here.’ He wanted to add, I wonder where he gets that from, but decided not to. There was no point in making a bad situation worse.

The raised voices had drawn some of their neighbours from their houses. Net curtains ruffled in the windows and some even came to their doorways to watch the spectacle. Others left their homes, pulling cardigans close and crossing arms over chests, resting at their gates or by the small picket fences that lined the gardens. Trish and Len opened their front door and stepped outside. He glanced over at them, and Len gave a small nod to show Nick his support.

‘Your son attacked my boy in school, Mr Cole.’ He emphasised the Cole, showing his disdain for the man’s attitude. ‘He chased after Freddie when he was out of sight of the teachers, pushed him to the ground, then punched and kicked him.’

Trish gasped, as did many of the neighbours, and her hand shot to her mouth. ‘Oh my God! Really? Is he okay?’

Nick nodded among the sea of muttering that now surrounded them. If people were going to talk – and who wouldn’t after seeing something like this – he was going to make damn sure they had the facts and didn’t apportion any blame to his son. ‘Freddie’s calmed down now but he was in a right state when I picked him up—’

The rest of the crowd were saying things like ‘Poor lamb’ and this seemed to anger Seymour Cole even more.

‘Faking, no doubt,’ interrupted Mr Cole adding a scornful laugh for good measure. Anger urged Nick forwards.

He took a step, straightening his spine and meeting Seymour’s eye. But Nick wasn’t a violent man. He was rarely even an angry one. Forced by the powerful urge to protect his son he thought about shouting and screaming and defending him to the hilt, but Freddie wasn’t a liar, and everyone knew that. Nick wasn’t going to give this man any more time than he deserved. Freddie still needed his bath and more than that, he needed a cuddle and some reassurance.

‘Go home and look after your son, Mr Cole. I’m going back inside to look after mine.’

Glancing back at the house, Nick became aware of Freddie descending the stairs in his dressing gown. He looked so tiny, more like a toddler than a ten-year-old as he stood there worrying his sleeves. Upon seeing Mr Cole his eyes widened in terror and all Nick wanted to do was close the door and comfort his boy. Nick turned and began to walk away. He was done here. ‘It’s all right, son. Let’s—’