He sat with his legs crossed, hands limp in his lap, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling while thinking of nothing but the flow of air that he felt crossing his upper lip and entering his nostrils then slipping down into his lungs to feed his bloodstream with oxygen, before taking away the carbon dioxide and discarding it by the same route. Fragments of daydreams in which his strength and alertness protected someone important from evil found their way into his consciousness. He repeatedly had to decline these thoughts – banish them so that he could continue to concentrate on the flow of air entering and leaving his body.

Meditation always helped, even though he never managed to maintain it for more than five minutes, and he was much calmer now, as he stood up, than he had been when he sat down, in spite of the burning disappointment. In reality he was disgruntled. It was a relief that he felt no real anger though. Anger was what he feared most, as it would herald rage. But there was only disappointment. He had been looking forward to taking on this assignment, getting to know the car and the minister, relishing the prospect of taking this task seriously and doing it better than it had ever been done in Iceland.

The real pain lay in knowing that, regardless of all his dreams and wishes, he had everything needed to make him a first-class bodyguard. He understood the importance of the role, that it was crucial to create a feeling of security so that whoever he was looking after could do their work without fear. He also had insight. Insight, as his teacher on the personal protection course in America had said, was the most important part of the bodyguard’s armoury. Insight meant feeling rather than knowing, and sensing rather than seeing. The key to all this was being able to trust these instincts.

He lifted both hands high above his head and bent forward to 25stretch his back after sitting. As he straightened up he felt a spark of hope deep inside him. Ministers come and go. In a year there would be another election, and then there would undoubtedly be a new government that would want drivers, and he could also start to look around for opportunities overseas.

‘Where on earth is anyone supposed to sit in this apartment?’ Íris asked as she came through the bedroom door into the living room, wearing one of his old singlets and with her hair awry. ‘Not everyone can sit on the floor all the time like you do.’

He smiled and pointed at the sofa.

‘Then the floor’s better,’ she said. ‘That sofa’s not something anyone would want to sit on.’

She was right that the sofa was neither smart nor particularly comfortable, but it was an excellent example of how to let a little suffice. This was something Íris didn’t understand, and whenever she came over or stayed the night she always complained about how sparsely furnished the place was. He got to his feet and went over to the kitchen worktop, where she stood shaking a carton of some protein drink.