‘Into what?’

‘Luxury residential, retail and leisure park,’ said Griff. ‘The money’s Malaysian, but a British company will be the face of it. Nobody wants to see a row of Malaysians in all the pictures. They want British companies, British businessmen. You know, shaking hands over a cement mixer or whatever.’

‘You?’

‘No, obviously not me. That would be a disaster, with my profile. No, no, no, it’ll be a local developer.’

‘Who?’

‘They’re putting one together now. And they’ll need grass-roots support. PR, basically. Persuade the shopkeepers and whoever that they’ll be better off.’

Dan stopped looking at him. He watched the people going about, setting up stalls, carrying materials in and out of the warehouse doors. A guy was unloading paintings from the back of his car. Griff was still talking.

‘Obviously they’ll be better off. It’ll bring the whole area up. But people are arseholes. We’ll need to draw them in. Sponsored events. Street parties. Give them the feeling the development is part of the community.’

‘The feeling?’

‘Kids. Balloons and what have you,’ said Griff. ‘Someone like you could be invaluable.’

‘Me?’

‘Get the locals onside, take my point?’

Dan took his point completely. Like Muslims on the beat in Bradford, like a black cop at Carnival.

‘I’ve got no experience in PR,’ he said.

‘Not an issue,’ said Griff. ‘It’s my call, I’m a significant stakeholder. Anyway, it’s a doddle. Any moron can do PR. Not that you’re a moron. Half my friends’ posh-totty daughters go into PR.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Maybe you are a moron. Do I have to explain?’ said Griff. ‘You’re married to Bea.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Look, what are you, an artist? That’s a rumour so far unproved. I’ve got no idea if you have any talent whatsoever, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. It’s time to grow up.’

‘What would I tell Bea?’

‘You won’t be working for me,’ said Griff, ‘you’ll be working for Copeland Park Development Project. CPDP. Catchy.’

Dan looked down at the ground. ‘Listen, it’s nice of you,’ he said.

‘I’m not nice.’

There was silence. Silence from Griff was unusual enough to get Dan’s attention. He looked up at him.

‘I had two boys,’ said Griff. ‘I’ve lost one of them. My daughter doesn’t want to know me. Ed is fine, I don’t worry about him, but Alex was –’ He stopped, words stopped by pain. ‘My daughter has told me many times she won’t take my money. Told me outright. Even when I’m dead. Did you know that? Not the trust I’ve made for her. Nothing. Do you know what that’s like? The world is drowning in shit and my daughter won’t get on the lifeboat.’