This was, I realised, the first piece of true evidence that there was a viral dream. But quite why it was featuring a line of dialogue from a decades-old sound test, I had no idea. I was still as much in the dark now as I was when I arrived – in fact, I was probably more confused.

‘Hey,’ came a voice close behind.

Jonesy

‘ . . . The temperature during a Welsh Winter fluctuated between a few degrees above zero and polar snaps that could freeze the mercury in the thermometers. The lowest temperature recorded in Wales was at Llandudno in 1976 – a marrow-freezing minus 78C  . . . ’

– Handbook of Winterology, 4th edition, Hodder & Stoughton

Jonesy sat down opposite and sniffed the coffee pot gingerly.

‘By St Etienne,’ she said, pulling a face, ‘what they say about the Siddons coffee is true. Kip well?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘on the whole, yes, I think so.’

‘Good. What’s that you’re eating?’

‘It’s an indeterminate foodstuff masquerading as scrambled egg.’

Jonesy picked up a spoon and prodded the grey mass gingerly. It wobbled as though irritated by the intrusion. She pulled a face, but helped herself to a spoonful anyway.

‘I bumped into Aurora on the way over,’ she murmured.

‘Oh dear,’ I said.

‘Are you insane?’ she said. ‘Truly, I mean, out-of-your-head insane? Toccata’s going to have your tongue out.’

‘We didn’t,’ I said.

‘Then why did she tell me you did?’

‘She’s using it to annoy the Chief.’

Jonesy stared at me for a while, unsure if I was telling the truth or not.

‘Let’s get to work,’ she said finally, ‘and look, I don’t care one way or the other if the big A is using you to scratch an itch, but think very carefully of actions, Wonky. They have a dismaying tendency to be followed by consequences, and sometimes quite bad ones.’

I followed her out of the Winterlounge and, once booted and suited, we stepped outside and walked to her Sno-Trac. The temperature had fallen since the previous evening and the air was as crisp as a wafer. There was barely a breath of wind, the sky was a deep azure and ice crystals on the snow glistened like diamonds in the sunshine.

‘I thought there was a storm coming in,’ I said.

‘There is. Six hours from now you won’t be able to see your hand in front of your face.’

I started the Sno-Trac and drove off in the direction of the Consulate.

‘We’ve got a problem,’ said Jonesy. ‘How many people did you tell about Lucky Ned?’

My heart sank.

‘I might have ... mentioned something to Lloyd.’