‘Yeah,’ he says, watching her deft fingers pushing a spring thing into the back of something else. They go through it several times and not once does she show any frustration when he slows down and loses his mind to the homesickness or simply turns his head to stare down into the wide plains below.

‘Ben.’ She keeps that tone so soft. ‘Try again for me.’

And it’s like that, like he is doing it for her. He nods and tries. Fiddling with small bits of metal that drop from his fingers to roll across the tabletop. She picks them up and hands them back. Harry just works quietly, seemingly learning for himself as he strips and rebuilds several times over.

‘Okay, that’s enough for today. Let’s get you out of the sun for a bit.’

Harry goes to say something but stops with a hard look from Safa, and the fact that a single look from her can bring Mad Harry Madden to a silence is testament to the authority she possesses.

Crash mats lie on the floor in the fruit room. Bright blue and clearly brand new. Head guards, thick padded gloves and other nasty-looking equipment. She nods at the sight of them, grunting in satisfaction as Harry heads straight to the long table to heft a cheesy-feet marrow up.

‘We messing now?’ Harry asks hopefully.

‘Yep, there should be eggs there.’

‘Eggs?’ He looks round and fixes his eyes on a wooden bowl. ‘Eggs!’ he says. ‘Where did . . . how . . . eggs! Well I never. Are they boiled?’

He picks one up to tap on the side of the table and quickly shreds the shell away before shoving it into his mouth and chewing with a contented nod.

‘Eat some eggs,’ Safa says to Ben. ‘You’ll need the protein and fats, and get some fruit too for the vitamins.’

Ben rises at the motherly tone and goes to say something but stops as that last prickle of pride tells him not to be an ungrateful prick.

‘I asked for some cutlery too,’ she says.

‘Yep.’ Harry brings them over, the bowl of eggs, fruits, knives, forks and spoons. They sit at a table slicing fruit like civilised human beings and cracking the shells from eggs to eat them down. They don’t talk. Ben wallows in pain and misery. His face and arms feel like they’re burning. He would ask for some sun cream or a hat if he could give a shit.

‘Ben.’ She calls his attention back to her. ‘Have some of this,’ she says, offering him a slice of the lemon–lime–melon thing. ‘It’s so nice.’

He takes the piece and devours it quickly, suddenly realising how hungry he is.

‘They can bring food back,’ she says conversationally. ‘So if there’s anything you want, just say.’

‘Pork chops?’ Harry asks.

‘Probably,’ she says, smiling. ‘Can’t see why not.’

‘Beef steak?’ he asks as though testing her.