Outside the airport he finds the taxi rank. His tracksuit top is tight around his shoulders now, and somewhat too thin. From across the concourse he suddenly sees the agents, watching him in plain view from behind the glass of the terminal.

When he reaches the front of the queue, the driver’s eyes flick up and down over him, taking in his lack of luggage but saying nothing.

He gives his parents’ address in the suburbs to the south and east of Heathrow.

‘Seventy quid alright?’ says the driver, after a pause.

It sounds too much but he is not in a strong bargaining position. He looks across at the agents and around at the queue massed behind him.

‘Alright,’ he says.

He gets in the back. He closes his eyes and shields his forehead with a hand, to indicate he does not wish to be disturbed. The driver drives.

After a safe distance he removes his hand from his eyes and looks around, still careful to give no encouragement to conversation.

He wonders if he is being followed. A blue Toyota tails them for some time, leaving the motorway with them at Junction 10, then to his relief takes the exit for Cobham. But there would not be just one car, unless the objective was simply to spook him rather than track him effectively. The driver of a white Lexus now seems to be taking an unhealthy interest in the cab.

He laughs out loud at his initial thought back in the airport, that they really had been letting him go. That he was free.

He catches the cabbie’s eye in the mirror, but they do not speak. How green it is here, even with the trees bare, even on the edge of the city. Fields and parkland. So much grass.

They pass Morden Hall and he sees the mosque. From here he could easily walk it. He looks out at the road on either side, at the changes in buildings and signage.

At Eastfields the cab leaves the main road and cuts through side streets. They seem to have shaken off the Lexus.

They approach his parents’ road and he directs the cabbie to the house. There is no car in the driveway.

‘My parents will pay the fare,’ he says. ‘Wait here.’ And he gets out before the cabbie can respond.

Gravel crunches under his feet. There are new rose bushes in the front garden, a few dried petals clinging on, and heavy planters bearing evergreen shrubs on either side of the front door.

He rings the bell. He can make out a light further down the hallway. He rings again, then looks back at the cabbie, whose face registers mild annoyance. No sign of them in the front room, though he notes that they have a new television and curtains.

He rings once more then walks back to the cab.