‘No, not yet. Just the V & A actually.’

‘British Museum is pretty amazing. They’ve got Egyptian mummies. Fucking weird, I tell you. You can still see what they looked like, as people. Their faces, you know? Load of carved stuff in there, too. Stone.’

‘I like paintings better,’ said Stephen, just for something to say.

‘Reckon we’ll see some good ones in the National Gallery. Van Gogh and what have you. I’m getting really into the older stuff, though, now I’ve been to Italy. It’s cool that they’re free to get into, here. The museums cost a fortune, over there.’

They arrived at the entrance. Stephen felt faint. He hadn’t had any breakfast; come to think of it, he hadn’t had supper last night either. Had he in fact eaten anything, over the past couple of days? He couldn’t remember. The feeling of dread was so overwhelming that it left no room for appetite nor thirst. He let Glen lead the way, grateful not to have to take responsibility for anything, just to trudge after someone else. There was an enormous portrait of a man with a pointed beard on a horse. The horse’s head looked too small. There was a woman with a lot of very pale skin, her torso twisted, clinging to a pillar as if a tornado was about to blow her away. They came to a large picture by Leonardo da Vinci, and stood in front of it, dutifully.

‘It’s pretty dark, isn’t it? Looks like it’s been dipped in cold seawater,’ said Stephen.

Glen laughed. ‘I’m glad you said it. I was trying to figure out why he’s meant to be so incredible.’

They traipsed through the rooms. The Virgin Mary never looked too pleased to find herself with the infant Jesus on her lap; less still when the angel came to tell her she was expecting a child, who was going to be the son of God. Some of the angels were beautiful, though. Their wings were mostly white tipped with gold and they had wise, solemn faces.

Glen wandered over towards a shadowy painting of some people sitting at a table. A bearded man on the right of the picture had his arms outstretched, as if he’d just received terrible news. Stephen followed and they stood, looking.

‘Caravaggio. Fucking incredible,’ Glen whispered.