‘Malcolm and Konrad get these?’ Ben asks, taking the pistol.

‘Yep.’

‘Where from?’

‘I don’t care.’

‘No, seriously, where the hell do they get guns from so easily?’

‘Again, I don’t care,’ she says. ‘They’ve got a time machine, they could take them straight from the factory if they wanted to. Right, this is a Glock semi-automatic pistol that fires a nine-millimetre round. The—’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ben, just watch and take it in. This is the safety here, on and off . . . see? On and off.’

‘I’m not a soldier,’ he says, placing the gun on the table.

‘You said you’d try,’ she says.

‘I did the running.’

‘So do this.’

‘I’m not a soldier . . .’

‘Nor am I.’

‘You were an armed police officer protecting the Prime Minister.’

‘Ben, please. Just try. What harm can it do?’

If she shouted he could get angry. If she ordered him he could tell her to fuck off, but that kindness sinks deeper and tugs at a deep instinct to do as asked.

‘Thank you,’ she says as he picks the pistol up.

‘You asked for more water, Miss Patel?’ Konrad comes out carrying a big glass bottle.

‘On the table,’ Safa says bluntly. ‘Right, magazine goes in here . . . to take it out you press this . . . see?’

Ben flicks the safety on and off a few times then ejects the magazine, which pops out of the bottom too fast for him to catch and falls from the table on to the ground. He picks it back up and takes a cup of water, half-watching as she puts hers back in and ejects it back out. He copies the actions, in and out. Safety on, safety off. Magazine in, magazine out.

‘Slide this back after ejecting the magazine to make sure no rounds are left inside, see?’ She slides the top section of her pistol back, showing him the empty chamber. ‘You do it . . . no, like this.’ She shows him again and watches as he fumbles with the unfamiliar weapon in his hands, which tremble from the workout. For a few moments he finds it interesting taking the gun apart and seeing how it works. She strips hers down and puts it back together. Telling him how to cock, where the release bits are and showing the internal spring and moving parts. Harry copies and pretty much does it first time while Ben gets stuck on the first bit and has to be shown piece by piece. He drinks more water. It’s more complicated than it looks with tiny things called firing pins, an extractor depressor and all sorts of wee, small, fiddly, annoying bits and he’s too hot, too hungry, his legs hurt and his face feels like it’s burning as he starts sliding back into misery.

‘Ben,’ she says gently, seeing the expression go blank and bringing his attention back. ‘Are you watching?’