Whether Marvar took comfort from this was impossible to say. He spoke between large breaths as though he had been running. ‘When Samir told me … what this boy … Vasily Petroshenko … did to him … and to your son. I did come here. Immediately! I spoke to … Mr Tanner, is it? And now he’s talking to our two boys, with the other one, together. But is that enough? Will it stop these tantrums? This boy should go and see a clinical psychologist, not Mr Tanner! People who bully have issues. I know bullies – you must know bullies.’ He returned to where he’d started: he had not forgotten his rancour with himself. ‘No, no, I should have been there. That is to say, I should have been watching Samir. But I will take him away somewhere soon, somewhere nice, maybe the next long weekend, and I will make up for it. I will make up for my negligence,’ as though also voicing a promise to someone else.

Dyer thought of asking where Samir’s mother was, but it seemed wiser not to. Perhaps Marvar was in the same boat as Dyer. People in Rio had not batted an eye, but in Oxford Nissa’s absence was noticed. The older crowd were surprised to learn that she was still alive, and their eyebrows rose higher to discover that she had gone on to have twins with someone else. He felt their instant reassessment – there must be something wrong with Dyer that she had left him. Marvar might be another single father with a turbulent romantic past.

On the low wall beside him, Marvar gave a shiver and sat back, buttoning up his coat. The city lights glittered through the naked trees. He stared at them. The sky was not yet black. Dark clouds moved in the distance.

‘In my day,’ Dyer felt obliged to point out, ‘parents never came to watch their children play football.’

Marvar turned his head. ‘You were at this school?’

‘Yes, but a while ago.’

‘Then you must have liked it to bring your son here.’

‘Liked it?’ said Dyer. He paused, thinking back. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’

There was the plunk of rubber soles on concrete. Marvar glanced nervously around. On the other side of the fence, a jogger ran by, breathing heavily.

Marvar looked back at him. ‘Explain to me the complications. No, no, I’m interested.’ He held up his hands and fluttered his fingers. ‘You see, I worry about Samir … he has so many things he has to deal with.’

Until now, Dyer had kept to himself his motives for sending Leandro to the Phoenix. The expression in Marvar’s eyes – a compound of anger, excitement, fear, self-control – made him open up.

Chapter Two