‘Armstrong probably gave it a huge kick, unless it had a rocket up its arse. Wernher von Braun, Wernher von Braun / What goes up must come down! Animal-tested. The Russians sent a dog, but Armstrong sent a cow. Being a Nazi isn’t rocket science, you just have to invade everything.’

Sebastian opened the door, went into the garden, took out a cigarette and paced up and down, singing inaudibly while Martin sat in his chair waiting. There were only twenty-three minutes of the session left and there was always the worry that it would be difficult to persuade Sebastian to leave before the next patient arrived. Martin tried to relax and do his work. If Sebastian didn’t come in of his own accord, he would invite him to come in a few minutes before the session ended. Until then, he would wait and work with whatever evidence he had. Every interpretation was a threat to Sebastian’s defences. There was only so much that Martin could hazard about Wernher and Armstrong and the moon, but he could persist in treating them as meaningful communications.

Before long, Sebastian threw his cigarette on the grass, ground it underfoot, and came hurtling back into the room.

‘“You say Sigi/ I say Ciggie,”’ he sang at the top of his voice, ‘“I say Ziggie/ you say Sigi. Sigi/Ciggie/ Ziggie/Sigi/ Let’s call the whole thing off!” Seriously, seriously, let’s call the whole thing off. Please. Seriously. Please, let’s call the whole thing off.’

Sebastian hid behind the armchair he was meant to be sitting in and continued to whisper ‘seriously’ again and again.

Martin could only see the edge of his arm. He let him whisper to himself for a while, and then said, ‘I take what you have to tell me very seriously, Sebastian,’ in a soothing and conciliatory voice, not much louder than Sebastian’s whisper. Sebastian reappeared around the edge of the armchair, not far from the ground.

‘I wasn’t always called Sebastian,’ he said, like a child telling a secret.

‘Really?’ said Martin. ‘What did you used to be called?’

‘They won’t tell me. They said I had to get used to my new name when they adopted me. I was only two. Two for the price of one. If they had told me my real name, my real parents might find me again, but they were Nazis who would stop at nothing.’

‘Like Wernher von Braun?’ asked Martin.

‘Raining down rockets, V1s and V2s on innocent men, women and children. Ripping people apart.’