The yelling outside was the travelling band of MRA protestors, chanting Mary’s worth away. Something smashed against the window. Not large enough to crack it, but loud enough to scare Mary into ringing the police. They told her to call again if she felt significant fear or alarm. Apparently, she was experiencing only a medium level currently. She said thanks and hung up.

Lil and K, who she’d usually be meeting at the pub at 5.00, had left kind messages and would arrive at the house in two hours. She decided to order some food from Bella Brava, which always had what she wanted: ‘The antipasti starter, the one with mortadella … Yep, just starter, if that’s okay. And three bottles of the house red.’ Mary rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, so forget the starter and give me as much linguini as it takes.’

A fair amount of pacing took place before the food arrived; the circular kind Bobby Finnigan did in Leverndale after blinding his girlfriend’s right eye with a metal pole. There were a lot of metal poles on the streets of Renfield. Knives too; common as dog poo, all the way from Grange Road to Ferntree, many of which unsuspecting eighteen-year-old males tripped over a minute before being stopped by the police. Honestly, the desperate ludicrous stories people told. Mary wished she could transport her fizzing-cold-sore insides to Bobby’s ward in Leverndale. It’d be socially acceptable to pace there, and she would do it for as long as the dizziness anaesthetised her.

Roddie wouldn’t answer his phone. A banana struck and splattered on the living-room window. Someone shouted – something about Mary. Her head was buzzing. No, it was the buzzer.

‘Bella Brava.’

In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She should write and thank the guy in the yurt. What was his name? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She’d have been quite calm when she opened the door if John Paul O’Donnell wasn’t standing there.

‘You’ve been doxed.’ He handed over the three large Bella Brava bags. ‘I got these at the door, saved the guy the trip.’

‘I’ve been what?’

‘Doxed. Your address is online.’

‘Oh, I’ve been doxed. Yep, that’s me.’ Mary almost managed to shut the door, but she’d looked at his face too long. ‘I don’t do that job anymore. I’m done. In fact, you were my very last report. Please leave me alone. Oh, and I threw it out, John Paul.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The cocaine. That’s why you’re here. I threw it out.’

‘Yeah, no. Yeah. I got supervision at court. Thanks for the report. I wanted to say that, in person. But, see, yeah, so it’s true. I am wondering about the cocaine. If you’re not in the job anymore, you’re allowed to understand?’

‘I threw it out.’

‘In your bin, like?’