The wall facing Wren’s bed was taken up with a picture of Captain Cyclone in his human incarnation – Captain Benjamin Black, hero of the SAS but not the superhero Captain Cyclone whose powers dwarfed the greatest gifts afforded to mankind. Tall, impossibly handsome and with a body made up from walls of muscle, Captain Benjamin Black’s eyes followed their creator when he moved around the room.

Wren watched the rain roll down his window and the sheer darkness behind the glass, the kind of weather that Captain Cyclone loved. He looked at his mobile phone, the one he’d held in the palm of his hand since Edgar McKee had dropped him off at home after they’d finished work early, and wished that Edgar would call him or send a text.

He looked at the hands of his bedside clock, bright green in the darkness, and saw that it was getting too late to call Edgar even if he had been allowed. Which he wasn’t. Edgar had been quite firm when he suggested in the van they swap numbers.

I’ll call you, Wren. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. I’ll reveal the reason when the time is right.

Edgar had said it so firmly but with such kindness that the memory of the whole day filled Wren with a warmth he hadn’t felt for many years.

Wren tried to put the journey from the abattoir back home to Gateacre into some sequence but he was totally unfamiliar with most streets and suburbs in the part of South Liverpool that they’d travelled through together.

I can tell we’re going to be great mates, Wren. I’ve only known you a matter of hours and I feel like you’re my mate already. I like you. I like you a lot.

Edgar had said that just after he’d pointed out a house on a dual carriageway that John Lennon from The Beatles had grown up in when he was a little boy.

Wren had stifled the words I’ve never had a mate before in my whole life because it made him feel bad about himself and he didn’t want Edgar to think that nobody else liked him.

He looked into the dim light of a lamp in the corner of his room and picked out the picture he had painted on the wall to his left. Captain Cyclone in his full glory, sweeping through a city full of corruption and lies, devastating the homes and offices of the bad guys, crushing them with his power yet at the same time sucking the innocent and good up into the eye of the cyclone that was his body, where they were safe and protected from the storm.

I’ll drive you home to Gateacre after I’ve gone on my message. Is that OK with you, Wren?