‘Oh, down there,’ Malcolm says, waving his arm at the door. ‘Wouldn’t come up.’

‘Why not? Did he change me?’

‘God, no! No, Miss Patel . . . no no no . . . he, er . . . well, he . . . I got what you said.’

‘Did you change me?’ she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

‘No! I promise. It was a woman . . . honestly . . . I did Mr Ryder and . . .’

‘What?’ Ben snaps, rising to his feet.

‘Oh shit . . .’ Malcolm says, backing out of the room.

‘Did you touch my willy?’

‘No . . . no I didn’t . . . oh God . . .’ He stammers the words out, getting through the door and backing away down the corridor. ‘We didn’t touch your penis, Mr Ryder . . . none of us . . . I promise we didn’t . . .’ He scampers away as Ben turns round to see Safa chuckling and Harry with a broad grin. Suddenly the world swings back on its axis and it’s not so bad being here.

‘Did you touch my willy?’ Safa says. ‘Classic . . . Harry, do you know what a willy is?’

‘Aye.’

‘Right,’ she says, still chuckling, as she grabs the bags. They head back down to their rooms. A fact which strikes Ben instantly. That he is already thinking of them as their rooms. His room. He has a room. He follows them in and immediately moves to drop down into one of the blue chairs.

‘Let’s see what we’ve got,’ Safa says, unzipping the bags. She starts pulling things out, examining them in turn. ‘Pair of boots for me . . . Harry I’m guessing these are yours,’ she says, holding a huge pair up.

‘What are those?’ he asks.

‘Boots,’ she says, looking up at him.

‘They’re not boots,’ he says.

‘Oh right, yes,’ she says, standing up to hold them properly. ‘Synthetic material with breathable mesh . . . they’re used by tactical police, soldiers, Special Forces . . . lightweight, breathable and the grip is incredible.’

‘I want my boots.’

‘Harry, these are excellent boots.’

‘Good, keep them. I want my boots.’

‘We don’t have your boots, we have these boots.’

‘The boots I was wearing, where are they?’

‘I don’t know. I was drugged the same as you.’

‘I’m going to get my boots,’ he says, walking towards the door.

‘Harry, just try these, you’ll love them I—’

‘MALCOLM? WHERE ARE MY BOOTS?’

‘Well,’ she says, looking at Ben then down at the boots. ‘They are good boots,’ she tells him. ‘Yours,’ she says, pulling another pair out from the bag. ‘We’ve got trousers . . . wicking tops . . . shirts . . . bags . . . belts . . . he’s got everything,’ she says, feeling impressed at the goods laid out on the floor. ‘And everything is new too.’

‘Did you ask for black?’ Ben asks, staring at the clothes being stacked into three piles.

‘Yep, why? Did you want another colour?’

‘No, just asking.’

‘Could ask for yellow or something if you’d prefer.’

‘I said I was just asking,’ he replies too quickly.