Bill had managed. It hadn't been easy and Mr. Andrews, who had agreed to take over his shift, had been very irritated with him for calling so late, but Bill had managed to be here. It had been late when he had come home at last and then he had been forced to tell his wife what had happened. He could hardly hide from her the fact that their son was appearing before the Magistrates the next morning. By the time he had gone to bed at last, his body had been filled with so much tension that he had hardly slept.

He was nervous. Not so much for what would happen to Joseph. A fine was his best guess, and that would be bad, but not the end of the world. What did bother him was what this would do to his son's reputation, whether this might make finding a new job more difficult.

But what really made him nervous was this room. The tension. The sight of the Magistrate with his wig. The sight of the dock. It was enough to make him sick. He sat very still, hands clenched to fists on his thighs, and his eyes piercing the back of Joe's head with such intense, anxious concentration that it was uncanny.