Had he managed to sleep at all? Benjamin wasn’t sure. There had seemed no difference between the darkness of his dreams and lying wide awake, staring into his unlit room.

Another of his hero, Ali’s famous quotes sprang to mind. The one where he pointed out life was a gamble, and that people got hurt or killed every day in accidents – and winners simply had to believe it wouldn’t happen to them. The boxer was absolutely right.

What a shame that someone so clever and sharp, such a great orator, had had to earn his living hitting people and getting hit. But what a gifted boxer he had been. And what an inspiration. That had been the only thing he and his father had ever agreed on.

The old man had never been satisfied with Benjamin; his son had never been good enough. Benjamin wondered what more he could have done. It wasn’t as though his father’s career had been that big a deal. He’d earned a good wage as a pilot, and it had always sounded impressive that he flew for British Airways, back in the day when that had been something to boast about. But he had never managed to make captain. Once, not long before he’d died, Benjamin had thrown that fact at his father’s face, and realised first-hand what a very sore subject that was.

Just weeks later, he’d been dead. Everyone had thought Benjamin so generous when he had told Krystal and his mum to split his share of the inheritance between them. Kindness had been less of a motivation than the fact anything to do with his father sickened him. That was why his first flat with Dominique had been a freezing hovel. It hadn’t taken long for Benjamin to work his way up, though; Dom deserved better than that.

Benjamin hadn’t allowed himself to be defeated then, and he wouldn’t now. He would keep on fighting.

The decision instantly birthed an idea. He knew exactly what he was going to do. With renewed vigour, Benjamin got out of bed, before even the magpie was up.

He hurried through breakfast, slurping down the dregs of his coffee as Dom came downstairs.

‘Morning. Right, I’m off.’ He gave her a peck on the cheek, looking at her only long enough to register she seemed in a bit of an odd mood. Presumably it was because of her weird sleepwalking.

---

Confident and full of optimism, he drove to the tax office and got out of the car, eager to spot Bernard Bairden and get their little chat over and done with. In the freezing cold, his breath spilled out in front of him and filled the air like exhaust fumes. The street lamps were still bright, glowing in the gloom of the foggy morning.

Chalk figures hurried along the street towards the office Benjamin was staking out.

The atmosphere was erasing his confidence. The longer he waited, the more he stamped his feet not simply from cold but to stop himself from running. He slunk closer to the office and shrank into its shadow, suddenly ashamed of how low he was about to stoop.

Benjamin was about to throw himself on the mercy of a man whom he had baited for eighteen months.

Vehicles filled the car park. Finally, Bernard parked right in front of the building.

‘Please,’ Benjamin said, stepping from the fog.

The tax inspector fumbled his keys in shock and had to scoop them from a puddle. When he straightened up he was trying to keep the frown of annoyance from his face, and having only marginal success.

‘Mr Thomas. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve had your letter. Please, don’t do this. Not yet. I’ve done nothing wrong, I swear.’

The look the inspector gave him made Benjamin squirm.

‘Mr Thomas, I’m sorry, but you have had eighteen months to prove your innocence or comply. HMRC has no choice but to take action against you now.’

‘You’re making me sell my home. Think of my family, my kids – it’s Christmas.’

‘We have made careful calculations so that you and your family won’t be left in dire straits. Obviously, you need to keep a roof over your head, and afford heating, food, all the necessities of life. But not an excess, I’m afraid. This is out of my hands now.’

‘I could make it worth your while—’

‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I’m going inside now. Goodbye.’

‘You bastard, you’re enjoying this,’ Benjamin growled. Before he knew it, he’d stepped forward, fists clenched.

Mr Bairden’s tone grew less reasonable. ‘Abusive behaviour will not be tolerated. Bearing in mind you have spent money that isn’t actually yours on the house and cars, I would say it is fair you have to get rid of them if needs must. And they must.’

‘I don’t have the money. My family will suffer for this.’ Benjamin was begging again.

‘I feel for them, I really do. However, it’s out of my hands.’

A colleague walked over, hands in pockets, casual, but eyes sharp.

‘Is everything okay here, Bernard?’

‘It’s fine. Mr Thomas here was just leaving. Weren’t you, Mr Thomas?’

Benjamin gave a jerky nod that stuck here and there like a rusty piece of machinery. He had failed. As he walked away, his steps were heavier than lead.

‘We could give him a bit of leeway, couldn’t we? If he’s a decent bloke,’ whispered Bernard’s colleague.

‘If he’s decent – but he’s a complete arsehole. He’s been arrogant, rude, and threatened me with a complaint a couple of times. I’m not inclined to bend the rules for someone like that.’

His colleague gave a huff that hung in the mist. ‘In that case, call the bailiffs on him, they can clear his house out.’

---

Bailiffs on Christmas Day, clearing the house out, snatching presents from the hands of his sobbing children. Dominique’s expression one of complete disdain. Benjamin could see it all playing out in front of him.

Just a bit more time was all he needed. He could land a big deal, get the money, be a winner again. With just a bit more time.

But it had run out. What was he going to do now?