I studied the skyline. 'Jesus, Davy, get a move on. Where the fuck are you?'

'Don't take His name in vain, Nick.'

'Davy won't mind, mate. I do it all the time…'

I thought Sam must be taking the piss, but then I saw the expression on his face. It was like Standish would have looked if you'd told him Beef Wellington wasn't on the menu tonight.

He lifted his arse, fished in his back pocket and handed me a battered leatherbound book. 'Go on,' he said. 'It's right up your street – sex, violence, revenge, all sorts.'

I flicked open the cover. 'It's the New fucking Testament. I didn't know you were into that stuff, Sam…'

I suddenly felt like I'd been locked in the same cell as a double-glazing salesman. Weddings and funerals were the closest I came to the happyclappies, and when people started talking to me about God or country, it just made me run for the hills…

His eyes flashed. 'You're not really getting the message, are you, son? I don't like foul language being used alongside the Lord's name. It's like me calling your mother a whore.'

I nodded, but still couldn't work out why it offended him so much. And maybe my mum had been a whore – I'd never met her to ask.

I handed back his Bible. 'No, thanks, mate, not for me. There's no pictures. And, besides, I know the ending.'

'You'll find out one day what you're missing.'