Somehow, my back’s so sweaty that it sticks to the faux leather seats through my shirt. I lean forward slowly, so as not to make a noise the others can hear, hangover headache now teaming up with nausea and a feeling I haven’t felt in over four years.

Dread.

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘Why has someone put money on your head?’ says the still nameless man. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘No. It’s not fucking obvious. Tell me.’

‘I really have to spell it out to you? Christ, okay. It’s just, you’ve got one of those faces.’

‘What?’

‘You know, one of those faces that people just really want to punch. It’s just so punchable and someone wanted to take that to the next level and...

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