Ben gets the press-ups done, then ten sits-ups, and for a second thinks maybe he’s not as unfit as he thought, but the rest is too short and he’s soon back holding his weight on his hands and starting again.

The next round is much harder. He gets nine in before she tells him to switch to sit-ups. He does ten and feels a pain in his stomach. Rest. Repeat. They rest and they repeat. Ben’s shoulders and arms burn. His stomach muscles scream out to stop. He flops down in the grass and by the fifth or sixth round he is gasping for air with his eyes burning from sweat.

Safa and Harry keep going while Ben feels like he is being sucked into the earth, dreaming of being at home on the sofa watching television with Steph. Steph was having an affair.

‘Enough,’ Safa says, rolling on to her back and finally breathing hard. She smiles at the familiar pain. The buzz is there. The endorphins are already being released. She recovers quickly. Her breathing coming back under control as she rolls on to her front and jumps lightly to her feet. ‘I’ll get water.’

‘Bring more,’ Ben croaks.

‘You’re weak,’ Harry says, making him look up at the casual tone.

‘I’m not a soldier. I work in an office.’

Harry doesn’t reply but looks away.

‘I’m not staying here, Harry.’ Harry still doesn’t answer but stands up as Safa comes out carrying the cups of water.

‘Have two,’ she tells him. ‘I drank mine inside.’

Ben takes the cups and downs them both in a few big gulps. Immediately he wants more and gets to his feet. ‘Want another?’ he asks Harry.

‘No.’

‘No more for a minute,’ Safa says.

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll get a cramp. We’ll warm down first.’

‘But I want more water,’ Ben says obstinately.

‘Ben, please . . . you’ll pull a muscle if you don’t warm down properly.’

They repeat what they did before but she makes them hold the stretches for longer, which just makes Ben’s muscles scream in agony.

‘Wait here.’ She heads back inside as Ben flops down on the cooling grass again.

‘I’m not staying here,’ Ben says again to Harry, who stays quiet. Ben shrugs and turns away. ‘I’m not staying.’

‘Put it down over there,’ Safa says, holding the door open for Malcolm and Konrad. She doesn’t say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ but speaks in a curt, commanding tone.

She places a black bag on the table and calls the other two over. ‘Harry, I know you saw mine yesterday, but have you handled semi-automatic pistols before?’ she asks, pulling a squat black pistol from the bag.

‘Berettas.’

‘You’ve handled Berettas?’

He nods. ‘We had Brownings too,’ he adds, hefting the gun.

‘Ben, yours,’ she says, holding one out. ‘None of them are loaded.’