And a few minutes later Troy came round the corner, not in his suit any more.
Old jacket. Work gloves. A red petrol can in one hand and a crowbar in the other.
And I stopped breathing.
Before I rang it in I rang his mother, in case she knew anything, and Chelo picked up on the first ring with one word.
“Troy?”
And when she worked out it was me her voice changed completely. “Mari? Aren’t you meant to be at work?”
And I asked whether he had rung her, and she said, almost in a whisper: “Take Nia and don’t complicate this. My son is under a lot of pressure.”
I had not told that woman anything.
So I hung up and rang 999 and gave them the address and his description and what he was carrying, and I asked for police and fire.
And then my father’s light came on.
