'SIT DOWN!' It roared out of me, unbidden. Trish looked shocked, but not as shocked as Bobby.

'All right, keep your hair on.' He lowered himself back down.

'Okay. Sorry. Look, all I'm saying is that the Millers are still after you, and it's only a matter of time before someone spots you and gives you away. That not only means that they'll come for you, but they'll punish whoever's been harbouring you. You know this, it's what they're like.'

'So?'

'So? Don't you care about anyone apart from yourself?'

'Dan . . .'

'Well, fuck it, the selfish little-'

'Dan . . . please.'

Bobby's mouth twisted up in contempt. 'Do you think I need you?' he spat across. 'I can walk outta here today, no problem . . .'

'Yeah, right, you're the big man, you'll be fine, for about five minutes, then they'll carve you into little tiny bits . . .'

'Fuck off!'

'You have no idea what they're capable of.'

'Do I not, do I not?' He jutted his false leg out. 'Do I fucking not?'

'Bobby, that's nothing. It's a scratch compared to . . .'

'Dan.'

'. . . what they're capable of . . .'

'Dan.'

'What?'

'Will you just stop . . . fucking . . . lecturing.'

'I was only . . .'

'Well, just . . . stop. Let me say something, okay?'

'Right. Yes. Okay. The floor is yours.'

I sat back. Sarcastically.

Trish took a deep breath. She let it ease out. Bobby looked at her expectantly.

'Bobby just hear me out, okay?' He shrugged. 'Okay?'

'Okay.'

'Good. Now, my late husband . . . sorry, Dan, that's not quite what I mean . . . or is it?' She smiled. 'Dan, my ex-partner, may go about things in an arsey way, but he is right.'

'Thanks,' I said.

'Shut up. Bobby. This cannot continue. I like having you here. But I can't live like this. Every time a car goes past, thinking they're coming for you. Or coming for me. I lived like that for a long time with this eejit, and I'm not going back there. This has to be resolved. If your leg had been left to fester, then it would have killed you. At some point the surgeons had to make a call, lose the leg or lose you. Well that's the point we're at; we have to make a decision on what to do. You can't sit upstairs thinking it will all just go away. It won't. It's festering, Bobby, and very soon we'll be at the point where that decision is taken out of our hands.'

'That's what I was going to say,' I said.

'Shut up,' said Trish. She was firm, she was direct, she was the voice of reason in a way that I, even though I was saying essentially the same thing, was not. 'Bobby who killed your mum?'

'What?'

'Simple question. You said you saw them.'

'She was askin' for it.'

'That's not what I asked, and you know you don't really believe that. Who was it?'

'Yeah, right. I tell you that, I'm a dead man.'

'Bobby, you're a dead man anyway.'

'No chance, no way. I tell you, everyone finds out I'm a tout, I may as well top myself. Never be able to show my face again.'

'Bobby . . .'

'I'm not a fuckin' squealer!'

'Bobby, you are fourteen, your mother is dead, you have no money, nowhere to go, you cannot walk the streets and you are not safe for anyone to be around while the Millers are after you.'

'Don't you think I know that?'

'I know you do,' said Trish, 'but if you're not prepared to name names, then we've pretty much run out of options.'

She looked at me, and gave me my cue.

'Even your dad isn't interested,' I said.

'You fucking what . . .?'

'Yeah, that's right, I tracked him down. He's living a nice comfortable little life in England, with his wife, with his children. He doesn't want to know, Bobby.'

'So? Big deal.'

But I could see from his face, despite all the bluster, that it was a big deal.

'I tried, Bobby, but he's really not fussed. It just kind of underlines what your mum did for you. No matter what you think of her now, she stood up for you, she protected you, she died for you, for fucksake. So think about it. She's gone and she isn't coming back. Your dad isn't interested and your relatives don't want to know either; it would be like signing their own death warrant. So listen to this and have a good hard think about it: you know and I know it was the Millers who were behind it. You wanted me to fetch the Xbox so you could get the gun and go after them. Well that's not going to happen. The only way you're ever going to be able to show your face again is by helping me. If you know who it was, you tell me. I'll work out some way to connect it to the Millers. I'll do whatever the hell I can to sort this out, to allow you to walk out of that door and not have to worry about someone shooting your fucking spine out. Do you hear me? I'm not asking you to go down the station and make a statement, I know you won't do that, but I need something to work on.'

Beside me, Trish said: 'Please.'

Bobby's cheeks were red and his eyes black-ringed and hollow. He was sucking one of his lips into his mouth and biting down on it. He released it and I could see blood.

'What did he say?' he asked quietly.

'What did who say?'

'My dad.'

'He was . . . he wanted to know how you were. What you're like. He's just in a difficult position with his family.'

'And what did you tell him?'

'That you were a little angel.'

'Really?'

'Really. What did you want me to tell him, the truth?'

'What does he do? For a living.'

'I don't know.'

'What does he look like?'

'I don't know.'

'You don't know much.'

'It was on the phone, Bobby, I'm sure I can find out . . .'

'Don't bother. If he's not interested, he's not interested. Fuck him.'

Bobby hauled himself out of the chair. He walked to the door. Trish and I looked at each other in confusion.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'We're not finished here,' I said.

He stopped at the door and looked back at us. 'I lied,' he said, 'The fire at my house. I didn't fucking see who did it. I was too busy running away.'

He clumped up the stairs, and stomped along the hall into his room.

I raised an eyebrow at Trish. 'Do you think our parenting skills could do with a little polishing?' I asked.

'He's upset,' said Trish.

'He's upset? I'm fucking furious.'

She was going to respond, but then stopped, listening. Bobby was on the move again. We tracked him along the hall and then back down the stairs, one step at a time. Trish raised her hands in a what do you think? gesture. I returned it.

Bobby came back in. He had a mobile phone in his hand.

'Where did you get . . .?' I began.

'Shhhh,' said Trish.

'I didn't see who did it. But my mates across the road did.'

'Those cheeky wee shits? They're your friends?'

'They saw it from their bedroom window. Took photos on their phone and sent them to me. Most of them look like shite, but there's one you can see a face.' He took a deep breath. 'This isn't me squealing, this is just you seeing a photograph someone else took.'

Bobby turned the phone, tapped the screen, and held it up for me to see.

It was indeed a good clear picture, with the flames in the background providing the necessary lighting.

Neville was right, it is a small world.

Mr Paddy Barr, come on down.

38.

I told Trish I needed to borrow her car. She told me to get away to fuck. I rephrased it using the words please and pretty please. She said, 'Do you want me to help you change your tyre? Because that's usually why-'

'I haven't time for this, Trish. I have to get moving now. Come on. I can fix this, but I can't afford to bugger around. Lend me the car, which, technically, is my fucking car anyway.'

'Technically?'

'Purchased with my money, in my name.'

'Do you seriously want to go down that road?'

'No! So just lend it to me!'

We only stopped when Bobby came barging back into the room with his replacement Xbox in his hands and said, 'It's fucking broken.'

'What did you do to it?'

'I didn't do anything! Why do I always have to have done something?'