I turn the corner into the crescent and spot Brian’s battered old van outside the house.

A fog gathers around my head.

I’ve tried to get his routine mapped out, but it soon became apparent that he doesn’t really have one. He’s out at the pub an awful lot, but only when the mood takes him; he doesn’t go on certain days or anything like that.

I walk into the kitchen, where Mother is busy making sandwiches.

‘Hello, love.’ She smiles without looking at me. ‘Lunch will be ready in ten minutes. Had a good morning at work?’

‘Yes thanks.’ I carry on walking and head upstairs.

The living room door is closed, but I can hear the television is on in there. Football, yet again.

Before Brian moved in, Mother and I would often sit and have a cup of tea and a biscuit together while we watched the headlines on Sky news.

I’d tell her about anything eventful that had happened at work during the morning. She always seemed very interested.

She often asked questions about the processes I’d implemented at Kellington’s, which I enjoyed explaining fully to her, even impressing myself on occasion with my extensive knowledge of parking regulations.

Then she liked to take her afternoon rest while I caught up with my paperwork for a couple of hours upstairs.

Late afternoon we’d watch Homes Under the Hammer together. Then, as it got to the time when the residents of Baker Crescent began to arrive home from work, I’d go back upstairs to begin my evening monitoring session.

At one time, Mother would have known all about the BMW driver who nearly got clamped yesterday. I don’t bother telling her all that sort of stuff now, because Brian can always be relied upon to appear in the kitchen, spouting his unwanted opinions at us.

‘Parking violation?’ he spluttered last week when I was in the middle of telling Mother about a devious customer who’d parked up, looked around the store and then nipped out of the front entrance and across the road.

The woman had enjoyed the next two and a half hours perusing the Victoria Centre shopping mall, courtesy of Kellington’s free parking. Later, she had blatantly admitted, when standing in front of her clamped car close to tears, that she’d thought – to quote – you wouldn’t notice.

‘Incredible!’ Mother exclaimed.

‘You can’t blame folks for using their head and maximising the local facilities,’ Brian offered, even though it had precisely nothing to do with him. ‘It does no harm. She’d been in the shop, hadn’t she?’

‘Yes, she had, but it states clearly on the authorisation ticket I issue that customers can only park there for an hour, maximum. Buying furniture never takes longer than that.’

‘Says who? You’ve never bought a piece of furniture in your life, Dave. Everything’s always been provided for you, hasn’t it?’

As usual when Brian embarks on one of his rants, Mother found something pressing that needed doing in the other room.

‘They are the rules,’ I said calmly, staring blindly at the muted television. ‘And rules are there to be adhered to.’

Brian let out a hacking laugh.

‘Ha! You’re a fine one to talk. What about the rule that says fully grown men are supposed to move out of their mother’s house and stand on their own two feet well before they turn forty years of age? How do you justify flouting that rule?’

‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ I said tightly, trying to focus on keeping my breathing regular.

‘No, I didn’t think it would be.’ Brian jutted his chin forward aggressively. ‘Here, I’ve got another useful rule for you… Don’t mooch around in your bedroom half your life and sponge off your mother. Is that a rule worth observing?’

I’ve always known there’s absolutely no reasoning to be had with Brian. Since he’s officially moved in here, he seems to have become even more belligerent in making his bigoted opinions known.

‘Excuse me.’ I threw my shoulders back and walked past him to the hallway. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

‘Like what?’ His mocking tone followed me upstairs like a lingering bad odour. ‘Spying on people from your bedroom window, you mean? Lusting after that new girl next door while she gets undressed at her bedroom window?’

It’s precisely that kind of unpleasant altercation that has made me decide to change my routine and head directly up to my room when I get home from work each day.

Mother hasn’t commented on this new behaviour, but she now calls me when lunch is ready and I go down and bring the food back up to my room.

I haven’t got a television up here, have never needed one, but it doesn’t matter. I can watch most things online anyway. It’s far preferable to having to put up with Brian’s company.

I unclench my fists and see that my fingernails have left livid half-moons all over the fleshy mound of my palm.

People have always tended to underestimate me. They think I’m meek and harmless because I don’t make much noise, because I walk away rather than challenge.

But there’s a part of me they don’t know.

Sometimes, like now, I have a sense of a powerful uncurling sensation inside. Like a hungry snake awaking from a long slumber.

I open my laptop and check the CCTV camera footage. Part of my morning routine before leaving for work is to set both window cameras up at my bedroom window.

Providing I angle them correctly, they cover a satisfyingly large span of the rear gardens of this house and the surrounding properties.

One faces the left of the crescent, one the right. They’re motion-activated so it doesn’t take me too long to whip through the footage. I generally like to make it my first job of the afternoon.

There are three scenes lasting longer than the usual two-second blips of a bird or a cat that activate the cameras regularly.

At 11.51, Mrs Barrett took the rubbish out to her bins. At 12.11, Mother put some crumbs out on the bird table.

I press play on the final clip and watch as Brian walks down to the bottom of the garden. He peers into the thick tangle of bushes there and then turns around, staring back up at the house. He lights a cigarette and stays there for a few minutes before walking back up the garden until he is out of sight of the camera lens.

There is nothing there that needs further investigation, so I select all the footage and click delete, resetting the cameras for the next stint.

Using this method, and in conjunction with the hours I’m here at the window in person, I can ensure that our house and the surrounding properties are monitored constantly.

The people living in the vicinity don’t realise it, but they have their very own guardian angel watching over them every hour of every single day.