The car moved forwards again. Suddenly, the volume of noise from ahead grew, as if a mass of people had turned a corner. Oh, here came – God, was this them? There were people moving back down the street. Ordinary people, not protestors, trotting out of the way. Then the first of the kids in those costumes, running hard, not after them, but away from something.

The main body of the protest had presumably run into police efforts to contain it somewhere up ahead.

‘What the hell, Brian?’

‘Sorry.’ Tunstall looked over his shoulder, wondering about reversing, but they were stuck among cars that were all frantically honking their horns.

Spatley looked round. Protestors were running the other way up the street now too, appearing behind them, meeting up with those from the other direction, all desperately looking around. Oh, don’t say that the police had kettled them in here, right in this street! In moments the car was surrounded: kids dressed in that Toff costume; kids with placards; kids just looking excited and sweaty, bare chested in shorts, sunburned from the day out, sparkling with factor fifty, scarves ready to be wrapped around their faces, those masks and capes and hats scattered among them.

A placard slammed against the side window, then the window opposite, then bodies swiftly started to surround the car. His view became obscured as more and more of the kids started thumping against the side of the vehicle. Those masked faces loomed as they tried to peer in, rather intimidating, especially when up close. Those things were such a mistake on their part. They should be trying to make people love them, not be scared of them. They couldn’t see in through the darkened windows. They were just assuming someone important or rich was in here, probably a ‘banker’. Some of them would know what a banker was: Mummy or Daddy. That was maybe why they hated them so much. Tunstall was muttering at them, annoyed. He hit the horn, held onto it. ‘I’ve called for backup; we should have you out of here in a bit. Don’t worry, it’s not as if they can get in.’

The car started to rock from the weight of bodies against both sides. Then the protestors must have felt the movement, and a cheer went up, and they started to synchronize, to do it deliberately. The ends of placards started to hammer against the windows. There was one of those canes thumping at the glass beside his head. But Spatley knew the glass would hold.

‘Little shites,’ called Tunstall. ‘Wish I could reverse into ’em.’

‘We can’t, I’m afraid.’ Just for the record. ‘How long until that backup gets here?’ He glanced at the window beside him and didn’t hear Tunstall’s reply, because suddenly his attention was caught by what he saw there.