I stepped between my son and my husband.

I could smell the damp wool of Richard’s expensive suit.

“You wouldn’t call the police on your own son,” I said.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I am protecting a vulnerable minor from a vagrant,” Richard said.

“The authorities will be very interested in how a homeless teenager broke into a secure agency.”

The baby let out a sharp cry from the sofa.

It was a high, thin wail that cut through the sound of the rain outside.