The boy was four at the most, and wanted to explore. The man, however, wanted to keep him safe – so they were fighting, and the man was going to win. The little boy did the only thing he could do, which was cry, and the man relented: he ordered his coffee and let the boy run free. Morris watched the child pad about, bumping into a chair. He looked all around the café, and gazed at Morris – and Morris knew what was going to happen next because it seemed to happen all the time. Some people attracted dogs: he attracted little kids. They always wanted an up-close look, and sure enough the little boy was making his way over, as if he were family.

His dad didn’t mind, so Morris said, ‘All right?’ because the boy was standing quite close now, still gazing at him. They simply stared at each other, until the child was distracted and wandered off again. Meanwhile, the door had opened a second time, and a very fat woman appeared, out of breath simply from carrying her own load. The father sat down while she went slowly to the counter, pulling a suitcase. He got the kid to the table, and tore a bun or teacake in half. Meanwhile the woman ordered a latte and a pastry.

His phone rang at last.

‘Where the fuck are you?’

‘I’m where I’m supposed to be,’ said Morris.

‘Where’s that?’

‘I’m in the café.’

‘How long have you been there?’

‘An hour.’

‘Tony was in just after half past. He parked outside, and went looking for you.’

‘Where?’

‘Cheltenham.’

‘That’s where I am. I’m at the station.’

There was a silence.

‘You said meet at the station,’ said Morris.

‘Shit. Why the fuck didn’t you call me?’

‘I’ve got no credit.’

Keenan swore again.

‘Okay, I’ll call you back. Stay where you are.’

Morris watched the little boy drop most of his bun.

He would have to go outside soon, because he needed to walk – and he wanted chocolate. There was nothing he could buy here, because the prices were so high: he couldn’t even afford tea. Twenty minutes passed, and his phone didn’t ring. The woman ignored him, and the man with the boy left.

If he went home, he’d lost money. If Tony didn’t come back for him, then he’d still lost money. It had happened before, these stupid mix-ups – and the annoying thing this time was that he hadn’t put a coat on, and the sweatshirt he was wearing just wasn’t warm enough. He pulled the hood up, and leaned forward so his head was on the table – that was his mistake, of course. The woman behind the counter now had no option, and she was there almost at once, standing over him.

‘Come on, angel,’ she said. ‘This isn’t a waiting room.’

‘Can I have a sandwich?’