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you needed them, no fucking cavalry pounding down the street; just him – and he wished he was a thousand miles away.
    ‘You no-good bitch , you think you got the right to say yes or no when I’ve told you the way it’s gonna go? You don’t ever run out on him. You keep him sweet, okay? You keep him sweet or I’ll cut you, cunt, I’ll cut you bad. Give you a spell in the correction room, how’d you like that? You listenin’ to me?’
    The girl was crying, shielding her head with her upraised arms. George caught a glint of thick pale hair. With no intention whatsoever of doing so, he stepped forward and said: ‘Hey!’
    The man standing over the girl looked round but the girl didn’t move. She seemed paralysed with fear.
    ‘Hey,’ repeated George more quietly, wondering what the fuck he was doing.
    There was a flash of teeth in the gloom of the alley. The man was smiling , like he couldn’t believe George had been so foolish as to intervene. Well, that was fair. George couldn’t believe it himself.
    ‘Walk on, bro,’ said the man, the smile dropping in an instant. ‘You just keep on walkin’. We got a bit of business here and you don’t want to get involved in it, I’m telling you.’
    But George stood there, wanting his feet to move but somehow unable to make them. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
    Now the man turned to fully face George. He was holding a knife in his left hand. It glinted in the cold sodium glare of the light.
    Fuck it, this is crazy.
    ‘Hey! Move on. I won’t tell you again.’
    He’s right. Do the sensible thing.
    George started to walk on. Whatever was going on back there, it was not his business. Best to keep out of it. He quickened his pace. Yeah, he was going to get home, have a shower, bung something in the microwave, then go to bed and forget this whole frigging disaster movie of an evening. He passed a building swathed in scaffolding, like the ecto-skeleton of some huge insect. A few sticks and stuff were piled up just around the corner – insulation material, some discarded scraps of polythene billowing like ghosts in the faint, chilly breeze.
    Sticks.
    George paused and looked at the sticks. And . . . there were scaffolding poles too, just left there. He picked up a stick. Picked up a scaffolding pole, and turned on his heel.
    Oh shit this is so stupid, Georgie boy, what are you thinking?
    He went back along the street. The bastard was still there, flapping his arms, waving the knife at the terrified girl, shouting and bellowing. George felt as if his bowels were about to let go as he broke into a run and headed like a bullet straight for the man.
    But the man heard him coming. George was heavy and wasn’t known for his lightness of tread. When he hit top gear, he made a lot of noise. He saw the man turn, and a panicky oh shit gonna die shot like wildfire through George’s brain. He let out a jittery roar that was half fear, half anger as his pace picked up and he collided with the man like half a ton of frozen meat. The man flew back and down and hit the cobbles like a sack of shit.
    ‘ You motherfucker! ’ he shrieked.
    George piled in. His eyes were almost entirely focused on the knife. He felt a vicious kick land on his thigh, and he knew that later it would hurt, but right now he couldn’t feel a thing.
    ‘Arsehole!’ he yelled, and struck the man a hard blow on the knife hand with the stick.
    The man was wriggling like an eel, cursing, throwing out a string of expletives.
    ‘Yeah?’ ranted George, so hyped on adrenaline he didn’t know what he was saying. ‘How’d you like this, you cunt?’
    He wanted to get that knife away from him. That was all he was focused on, but the man was like rubber, bouncing around while George felt like dead weight. He felt the cold hiss of the thing go past his cheek and thought: My God he nearly got me then. I could have bled to death right here in this alley, and for what? For a stranger. For something that ain’t even