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stared at Wullie, the anger boiling up inside him, but contained for all that. He nodded a bitter nod, sat down in his chair, roughly lifted the paper, and made no attempt to read it.
    The moment had passed, but tension still hung thick in the air. Barney looked at his paper for a few seconds, then turned the corner down and glanced menacingly over at the row of men sitting trying to ignore him.
    It was the first time he'd felt so humiliated since the window seat debacle, and while he'd eventually let that one pass, there was no way he was going to let Wullie talk to him like that in front of all these bloody goons.
    Chris silenced his hair-dryer – much to the relief of the man at the other end of the warm blast – then the only sound in the shop was the quiet snip of two pairs of scissors going about their business. Finally the man at the whim of Wullie's hand asked him if he'd read the gossip about some film star of whom Barney had never even heard, and slowly the shop returned to normal. The quiet hum of pointless chatter, interspersed with electric razors and the gentle flop of hair to the floor.
    Then, with the elegant timing of a Victorian watch, the door to the shop swung open. Ten pairs of eyes looked expectantly. The possibility that here might be someone to assuage their guilt. It was a man in his late twenties, unaware of the cauldron into which he had just walked. Quietly closed the door, took his place at the end of the queue.
    Barney laid down the paper, stood up, brushed down the seat, lifted the cape, looked the man in the eye. He didn't immediately recognise him. A good sign.
    'All right then, my good man. All these others are waiting, so you're next in line.'
    Unaware of the expectations weighted upon his shoulders, the man did not even hesitate.
    'That's OK, mate, I'm just going to wait for Wullie.'
    Barney stood, cape in hand, a bullfighter without a bull. He stayed calm. Bit his tongue, although the sight of Wullie staring at him out of the corner of his eye did nought but increase the desire to explode. He placed the cape back over the chair, deliberately lifted the paper, and once again sat down. Just before his backside hit the seat, he paused, looking once more at the customer.
    'Are you sure now, my friend, there's a long queue?'
    The man nodded. 'Aye, I'm all right, mate, thanks. There's no rush.'
    'Very well.'
    Barney slumped into the seat, seething quietly within. He hated all these bloody customers. Who did they think they were anyway? Complete bastards the lot of them. But no matter how much he hated them, it did not tie the shoelaces of how much he hated Wullie and Chris. Those smug bastards. He would have his revenge.
    He didn't know how, but somehow he would. He was sure of it. He looked along the shop at Wullie, and then past him out of the window. It was a dark day, the rain falling in a steady drizzle, as it had done all afternoon. Doleful figures passed by, hunched against the wind and rain, unaware of the injustices within the shop past which they scuttled. But some day they would find out. Some day, everyone would know about what went on in the shop. Some day soon.
    ***
    R obert Holdall slumped into his seat with the enthusiasm of one settling into the electric chair. Another press conference. The Chief Superintendent was forcing them on him almost daily. He would have liked to have argued that they were stopping him from doing his job, but he had so little to go on that the only thing that they were getting in the way of was his afternoon tea and sandwich.
    He was accompanied as usual by the burly press officer, a woman of quite considerable stature, who exercised an amount of control over the press that no man had ever managed. And as Holdall readied himself to read his prepared statement, she silenced the packed room with a couple of dramatic waves of her right arm. This was a woman who ate large mechanical farm implements for breakfast.
    Holdall stared gloomily at the words