‘No trouble at all,’ he sing-songs. ‘You can pull out the sofa bed if you want. I’ll take the laptop in the other room. I won’t disturb you.’

The woman looks confused until he gets up, removing his laptop from its stand. She takes off her shoes, swivelling horizontally. She’s lying down and doesn’t have on socks.

‘What’s your name?’ he asks from his bedroom door.

‘Nuria.’

‘I’m Geoff,’ he says, pushing the door closed.

He writes an article for a friend’s blog, something inane about the falling teenage pregnancy rate in his locality. He makes a good attempt at getting back into it until the outside begins to call, distracting him from the white screen. He grunts and shuts the laptop, banishing words. He walks over to his bedroom window. Voices float on thermals. Civilians stream from the makeshift checkpoint. Three bendy buses stand in line, doors open, engines purring like idle cats. The soldiers corral their charges towards the vehicles and he can’t see Parks but knows she’s there, performing the job he can’t quite believe is hers. The magnetic wall shimmers purple and blue under sodium lights like trapped nebula beneath glass, a series of installations extending for ever north.

Geoff checks on Nuria. She’s sleeping, comatose. He makes a bowl of cereal and sits at the desk, watching. That good feeling, the one that came with the elation at finding a way into the city and giving aid to a fellow human being, gives way to something else. He can’t quite recognise what, but a thought rises. His lone voice. Who’s the victim? it asks. Geoff’s spoon is poised. He waits for an answer. Me and you, of course. Me and you. He shakes his head, attempts a laugh. All he expels is a soft rasp, more like a wheeze. He shuffles in the office chair, eats another spoonful. Me and you, he thinks, me and you.

Even so, he can’t quite picture the balance. Although he’s well aware it’s not entirely accurate, Geoff eats cereal and imagines a pair of antique scales tipping against him every time.

The knock comes just before eleven. He pads out to answer as Nuria’s still curled up, snoring like a child. When Parks follows and sees the woman on his sofa all colour leaves her face. She gestures, harsh whispering. He puts a finger to his lips, beckoning her into the bedroom.

‘Who the fuck is she?’

She’s flushed, breathing hard.

‘Jesus, Parks. She needs a pass, that’s all. I thought you might help.’

‘And what’s she giving you?’

He shakes his head, tutting disappointment.

‘I told you to call me Rasheda anyway.’

‘Do you have them? Please.’

Her chest heaves. Geoff keeps his eyes on her face. He tries to push away his memory of how she looked in dim light, unclothed beneath his faded bed sheets.