Even as his legs are propelling himself forward Cullen is thinking, don’t do this, don’t let him get to you, but it is already too late. He is grabbing Ratner’s shirt at the neck and shaking him. Ratner pulls back, a look of shock on his face, and there is an instant when Cullen tells himself that it is not too late to stop now, that no real damage has been done. Then his fist makes contact with Ratner’s cheek. Ratner lurches back, his hand coming up to the injured part. His eyes are stormy. He is considering whether to retaliate and for a moment the two adversaries are freeze-framed, pumped up with shock but powerless to move. Then the moment passes and Cullen sees Ratner slump and turn, hurrying towards his silver VW, muttering darkly to himself, checking to make sure there are no witnesses to this little lapse in judgement. Ratner won’t tell. He’ll be too ashamed. All the same, it was stupid, stupid, stupid. I should go back to the office. Act normal but pretend I’ve got some urgent work and can’t be disturbed. Get Tina to hold all my calls and appointments. Drink some coffee, maybe have a quick snooze on the sofa, put myself back together.

Mark Ratner has driven off now. Cullen walks over to his Volvo, presses the electronic key and lowers himself into the driver’s seat. He leans his hands on the steering wheel, inspects the swelling already coming up on the knuckles of his right hand where they made contact with Ratner’s face. He shuts his eyes and, taking a deep breath, reaches automatically for the glove box, takes out the quarter of Bell’s and empties it into his mouth.