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I was put through to DS Reed and he confirmed that he supported QPR. Not only that, he knew Skinner and Passmore. Poor devil.

The two of them arrived within minutes. Both were in jeans. They looked familiar, but I didn’t warm to them. There is something about policeman that I don’t like – it’s to do with their attitude and the air of authority and the way that they always travel in pairs. They also provoke memories. In my early and mid-teens I spent my evenings at the local recreation ground being bothered by ancestors of Skinner and Passmore. They caused a lot of trouble when I was caught on my brother’s old 50cc Gilera. It was red, very slow and sounded like a mosquito on Red Bull.  The fun of riding it was not worth the caution that I received, and it was certainly not worth the punishment dished-out by David after Sergeant Melia told him. David is two years older than me. To this day, I still hold the police partly responsible. And, Skinner and Passmore presented my first opportunity to get even.

They handed me their warrant cards. I checked them – looking at the pictures, then looking at them, then looking at the pictures and then looking at them again.

“Which of you is which?”

They didn’t respond. It was clear which was which; Passmore’s head was all but shaved and Skinner’s hair was thick – and he had a moustache. When I’d pushed my luck as far as I could, I did it once more and then handed the cards back.

“You paid more attention to that than you did crossing the road,” Passmore said, “You should be careful.”

I exhaled loudly through my nose.

“Silver Vauxhall,” I said.

“Yup.”

He thought he was clever. I’d get him. We moved in to the living room in silence. I was not going to waste words or hospitality on them, despite them being my first visitors for weeks.