‘You were never good enough for her. Get your fucking hands off me,’ he spat out. Gavin reacted without thinking, lashing a hand out towards Bolton, only reaching his collarbone. More of a slap than a punch, and about as damaging as a moth fluttering at a lightbulb. As it landed, the anger melted from Gavin’s face, replaced by shock that he’d actually laid a finger on Bolton. With Locke still just a spectator, Bolton swatted Gavin with a backhander that could fell a tree, sending him sprawling backwards over the coffee table. Gavin spun as he fell, landing face down, and Bolton was on him in a flash, grabbing Gavin’s left wrist in a vice-like grip, extending the arm and pushing the hand down towards the forearm. Locke heard a soft snap, like dried twigs. Gavin’s squeal was high enough that Locke expected the neighbourhood dogs to come running.

‘Enough, James. Leave him be,’ said Locke.

Bolton looked disappointed as he released his grip and stepped back. Gavin rolled onto his back, clutching his hand to his chest and whimpering like a wounded animal.

‘What the hell have you done to him?’ a woman’s voice shrieked.

Locke looked over to the door and saw Mary rushing across the room to kneel by Gavin’s side. Bolton held up both palms in a nothing to do with me gesture. Locke felt the last of his patience dissolving, with all of them. Bolton, with his ‘lash out now, ask questions later’ approach. Gavin, who was just one of life’s punching bags; always had been, always would be. As for Mary, she was hardly a saint. Locke knew that she was more in the know than she let on. If she knew half of what he suspected, it would make Gavin see his mum in a whole different light. Mary glared up at both of them, a lioness protecting her cub.

‘He came charging in here full of hell, yelling his head off about his sister, and took his chances throwing a cheap shot at James,’ Locke snapped. ‘He’s fine. He just needs to calm down, that’s all.’

‘Let me see that,’ she said to Gavin, lifting up his wrist. He winced, sucking air in through gritted teeth. ‘I think you’ve broken his wrist,’ she snapped at Bolton. ‘He’s going to need this seen to. I’ll drive him to A & E myself. I wouldn’t want either of you to put yourselves out.’

She helped Gavin to his feet. ‘You’re a bloody animal,’ she said to Bolton. That was the equivalent of swearing by her standards. The two men watched in silence as she ushered him out of the room and out into her car.

Bolton held his hands up as if to say what can you do. ‘You saw it, boss. He went for me. I just reacted.’