“No,” said George. “Definitely not pizza.”

“Fuck off then,” laughed Terry.

“Excuse me?”

“What are you disturbing my party for, if you’re not pizza?”

“Us disturbing your party?” fumed George, quietly.

Veronica flashed him a restraining look. “Actually, you’re disturbing us,” she intervened. “We live next door and–”

“I know who you are,” slurred Terry.

“Yes, well then, you should know that you disturb us quite often, actually.”

“Pipe down love,” Terry laughed again. “It’s my house isn’t it? I can do what I like in here.”

“Actually, you can’t,” said George, stepping onto the higher step, a little closer to Terry who immediately straightened himself from his leaning stance. “There are laws about noise. And it’s late. You’re breaking the law.”

Terry sniffed a few times and rubbed his hand against his nose. His hair was thick with grease, his eyes bloodshot. “Call the coppers then.” He raised his chin at them, seemingly amused, and reached for the door, making to close it, but George put his hand in the way. This surprised Terry. Veronica saw the shock dart across his face and into his frame, but there was no contest in strength and the door fell open. Terry took a clumsy step backwards, rescuing himself with an Oscarworthy pretence of purpose.

“Maybe we will call the police,” interjected Veronica, thinking of Dominic, boldness flashing. But George squeezed her hand.

“We’re here, talking to you,” said George calmly, firmly. “Because we’re trying not to involve the police. Or other authorities. But as I’m sure you’re aware, our bedroom borders your living room. We can hear everything. It’s not reasonable to be so loud, so late. We have jobs to get up for.”

“Well I wouldn’t want you to be too knackered for your fancy jobs, would I?” jeered Terry, his voice taking on the mocking tones of a teenager. He peered past George towards Veronica. “Getting a bit tired are you love? Looks like you could do with some beauty sleep.”

“I’d stop right there if I were you,” said George, his frame somehow broadening without moving.

“Actually,” said Veronica. “I could do with some sleep. I could do with it being quiet enough to–”

But Terry ignored her, his eyes locked on George. “Look, if you’re not pizza and you’re not the cops, trot back off to your prissy little house and fuck your prissy little woman and leave me alone,” Terry spat.

This time Veronica squeezed George’s hand. “George.”

But George was already letting go, moving closer to Terry, squaring up to him. He placed himself inches away from Terry’s face. “Do you want to come outside and say that to me again?” he asked slowly, softly.

“Fuck off,” said Terry.

“Come on,” George practically whispered. “You’re the big man, we hear you being the big man. Yes, you know what I’m talking about. Why not come on outside, let’s chat, big man to big man.”

Their eyes remained locked – Terry’s raw and angry, George’s black with resolve. For what seemed like an interminable moment, Terry tried to hold George’s stare, as though the world was watching, as though his entire manhood rested on it, but finally he lowered his eyes. As he did so, his whole body shrank, the skinniness of his arms and his pallid complexion slipping into the space where a moment before there had been belligerence and venom. For an instant, Veronica even felt sorry for him. She knew that George would never actually hit Terry, but Terry didn’t know that. Clearly he had weighed things up, considered George, considered himself, and found himself inferior.