‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Merci beaucoup,’ and I jumped on the saddle before he could change his mind. Amelia climbed up behind me. We left the bike’s owner in a puff of exhaust, rattling off down the broad road. This bike was heavier than the ones we’d ridden through the bush, but it worked, and let’s face it, I’d had practice. Negotiating the traffic on potholed tarmac was still a lot easier than keeping upright along that snaking dirt path. I’d checked the map on my phone before setting off, and had memorised where the police station, market and our old hotel were in relation to Langdon’s place and our hideout flat. I made for the market first, the one where we’d seen the amazing Sapeur guy all dressed up in his three-piece suit, and not because I wanted fake Nikes, sunflower seeds or a set of goat hoofs, though I was pleased to see those stalls still there. No, what I wanted was a couple of helmets, and the woman whose life’s work appeared to be selling the most battered of biking lids possible was still at it beneath her pink-and-yellow parasol. She seemed unsurprised to see us, as if white teenagers showed up regularly to buy her recycled helmets. Although her stall was well stocked, not many of her helmets had visors. We found Amelia one that fitted. I had to make do with one that was too big. But that had its advantages. As we threaded our way back through the market on the bike, picking up speed en route to Langdon’s place, the breeze worked its way into the helmet and cooled my face.

I found my way there easily enough, though ‘there’ was pretty unrevealing. Langdon’s house was in a side street off a clogged main road. In this little backwater the buildings were set behind gates. My heart sank on our first pass, as I couldn’t see a anything useful through the metal railings, but coming back down the street slowly on the side nearer the shuttered house I spotted a familiar black SUV tucked in a parking slot behind the railings. Amelia saw it too. She headbutted the back of my helmet, nodding in the direction of the big car. We rolled on past, and I pulled the bike in behind a scabby-barked tree further down the street.

‘Pretend we’ve got a problem with it,’ I said to Amelia, kneeling down beside the bike myself.

‘But it works fine.’

‘That’s why I said “pretend”.’