The passengers rose. Saul swung his bag over his shoulder andshuffled out of the carriage. Freezing air stretched up to the greatvaulted ceilings. The cold shocked him. Saul hurried through thebuildings, through the crowds, threading his way between knots ofpeople. He still had a way to go. He headed underground.

He could feel the presence of the population around him. Afterdays in a tent on the Suffolk coast, the weight of ten million peopleso close to him seemed to make the air vibrate. The tube was full ofgarish colours and bare flesh, as people headed to clubs andparties.

His father would probably be waiting for him. He knew Saul wascoming back, and he would surely make an effort to be welcoming,forfeiting his usual evening in the pub to greet his son. Saulalready resented him for that. He felt gauche and uncharitable, buthe despised his father’s faltering attempts to communicate. He washappier when the two of them avoided each other. Being surly waseasy, and felt more honest.

By the time his tube train burst out of the tunnels of the JubileeLine it was dark. Saul knew the route. The darkness transformed therubble behind Finchley Road into a dimly glimpsed no-man’s-land, buthe was able to fill in the details he could not see, even down to thetags and the graffiti. Burner. Nax. Coma. He knew the names of theintrepid little rebels clutching their magic markers, and he knewwhere they had been.

The grandiose tower of the Gaumont State cinema jutted into thesky on his left, a bizarre totalitarian monument among the budgetgroceries and hoardings of Kilburn High Road. Saul could feel thecold through the windows and he wrapped his coat around him as thetrain neared Willesden station. The passengers had thinned. Saul leftonly a very few behind him as he got out of the carriage.

Outside the station he huddled against the chill. The air smeltfaintly of smoke from some local bonfire, someone clearing hisallotment. Saul set off down the hill towards the library.

He stopped at a takeaway and ate as he walked, moving slowly toavoid spilling soy sauce and vegetables down himself. Saul was sorrythe sun had gone down. Willesden lent itself to spectacular sunsets.On a day like today, when there were few clouds, its low skyline letthe light flood the streets, pouring into the strangest crevices; thewindows that faced each other bounced the rays endlessly back andforth between themselves and sent it hurtling in unpredictabledirections; the rows and rows of brick glowed as if lit fromwithin.

Saul turned into the backstreets. He wound through the cold untilhis father’s house rose before him. Terragon Mansions was an uglyVictorian block, squat and mean-looking for all its size. It wasfronted by the garden: a strip of dirty vegetation frequented only bydogs. His father lived on the top floor. Saul looked up and saw thatthe lights were on. He climbed the steps and let himself in, glancinginto the darkness of the bushes and scrub on either side.

He ignored the huge lift with its steel-mesh door, not wanting itsgroans to announce him. Instead he crept up the flights of stairs andgently unlocked his father’s door.

The flat was freezing.

Saul stood in the hall and listened. He could hear the sound ofthe television from behind the sitting room door. He waited, but hisfather was silent. Saul shivered and looked around him.

He knew he should go in, should rouse his father from slumber, andhe even got as far as reaching for the door. But he stopped andlooked at his own room.

He sneered at himself in disgust, but he crept towards it anyway.

He could apologize in the morning. I thought you were asleep, Dad.I heard you snoring. I came in drunk and fell into bed. I was soknackered I wouldn’t have been any kind of company anyway. He cockedan ear, heard only the voices of one of the late-night discussionprogrammes his father so loved, muffled and pompous. Saul turned awayand slipped into his room.

Sleep came easily. Saul dreamed of being cold, and woke once inthe night to pull his duvet closer. He dreamed of slamming, a heavybeating noise, so loud it pulled him out of sleep and he realized itwas real, it was there. Adrenaline surged through him, making himtremble. His heart quivered and lurched as he swung out of bed.

It was icy in the flat. Someone was pounding on the frontdoor.

The noise would not stop, it was frightening him. He was shaking,disorientated. It was not yet light. Saul glanced at his clock. Itwas a little after six. He stumbled into the hall. The horrible bangbang bang was incessant, and now he could hear shouting as well,distorted and unintelligible.

He fought into a shin and shouted: ‘Who is it?’

The slamming did not stop. He called out again, and this time avoice was raised above the din.

‘Police!’

Saul struggled to clear his head. With a sudden panic he thoughtof the small stash of dope in his drawer, but that was absurd. He wasno drugs kingpin, no one would waste a dawn raid on him. He wasreaching out to open the door, his heart still tearing, when hesuddenly remembered to check that they were who they claimed, but itwas too late now, the door flew back and knocked him down as atorrent of bodies streamed into the flat.

Blue trousers and big shoes all around him. Saul was yanked to hisfeet. He started to flail at the intruders. Anger waxed with hisfear. He tried to yell but someone smacked him in the stomach and hedoubled up. Voices were reverberating everywhere around him, makingno sense.

‘… cold like a bastard…’

‘… cocky little cunt…’

‘… fucking glass, watch yourself…’

‘… his son, or what? High as a fucking kite, must be…’

And above all these voices he could hear a weather forecast, thecheery tones of a breakfast television presenter. Saul struggled toturn and face the men who were holding him so tight.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he gasped. Without speaking, the menpropelled him into the sitting room.

The room was full of police, but Saul saw straight through them.He saw the television first: the woman in the bright suit was warninghim it would be chilly again today. On the sofa was a plate ofcongealed pasta, and a half-drunk glass of beer sat on the floor.Cold gusts of air caught at him and he looked up at the window, outover houses. The curtains were billowing dramatically. He saw thatjags of glass littered the floor. There was almost no glass left inthe window-frame, only a few shards around the edges.

Saul sagged with terror and tried to pull himself to thewindow.

A thin man in civilian clothes turned and saw him.

‘Down the station now,’ he shouted at Saul’s captors.

Saul was spun on his heels. The room turned around him like afunfair ride, the rows of books and his father’s small picturesrushing past him. He struggled to turn back.

‘Dad!’ he shouted. ‘Dad!’

He was pulled effortlessly out of the flat. The dark of thecorridor was pierced by slivers of light spilling out of doors. Saulsaw uncomprehending faces and hands clutching at dressing-gowns, ashe was hauled towards the lift. Neighbours in pyjamas were staring athim. He bellowed at them as he passed.

He still could not see the men holding him. He shouted at them,begging to know what was going on, pleading, threatening andrailing.

‘Where’s my dad? What’s going on?’

‘Shut up.’

‘What’s going on?’

Something slammed into his kidneys, not hard but with the threatof greater force. ‘Shut up.’ The lift door closed behind them.

‘What’s happened to my fucking dad!’

As soon as he had seen the broken window a voice inside Saul hadspoken quietly. He had not been able to hear it clearly until now.Inside the flat the brutal crunch of boots and the swearing haddrowned it out. But here where he had been dragged, in the relativesilence of the lift, he could hear it whispering.