‘Try me.’

‘Right, well … I’m going to tell you straight, and you can take it or leave it.’

‘OK. Go on.’

‘If I tell you my name, I can’t guarantee your safety.’

As I spoke, her pager beeped again. She looked at it, distracted. I raised my voice a fraction. ‘Listen to me.’ She looked up and backed away abruptly. Harmless eccentric or dangerous madman? I’d asked myself the same question many times before – though not often of myself. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly, and swung my left leg up on to the bed, rolling up the cuff of my jeans. ‘Look.’

The scar on my calf that she’d pressed her thumb into earlier appeared deeper than usual, picked out by the slanted light from the bathroom.

‘Colombia,’ I said. ‘You’re right, there is a story behind it. I only wish I had time to tell you.’ I pointed to my left ear, the top of which had been torn off ten months before. ‘Sierra Leone. You could write a whole book about that one.’ Then I pointed to a long-since healed laceration on my right bicep. ‘Afghanistan. I lost three friends that night.’ Finally I pointed to my left wrist, ringed with bruises fresh from my ordeal on the ship. ‘English Channel. Last night.’ I rolled the jeans leg down again. ‘I’m not mad, and I’m not dangerous,’ I said. ‘Not to you, anyway.’

‘So what are you, then?’ she asked.

‘Unless you help me to get out of here? A dead man.’

She said, did, nothing. I was winning. Slowly.

‘It’s just …’ I cleared my throat. ‘It’s just that I’ve spent my whole life convincing people I’m someone I’m not. Now I need to convince you I am what I am, and I don’t know what to say.’

‘The truth,’ she said. ‘Tell me the truth. The truth will set you free.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it won’t. The last time I heard someone say that was during an interrogation. They executed the prisoner in the morning. And anyway, I can’t tell you the truth. You wouldn’t believe it. But if I can show you the truth,’ I continued, ‘will you help me?’

‘You don’t have to show me anything. I believe that you’re a soldier,’ she said. ‘And I believe that you’re in trouble, and that you need help. What I don’t believe is that running away or holding back vital information – from me, or the police, from anyone, frankly – is ultimately going to do you any good. There are probably people out there, right now, risking their lives searching the sea on your account. Think about that, about them, for a moment.’

‘You see, that’s the problem,’ I said. ‘I’m not a soldier. Not in the way you mean. Please. Let me show you.’