Ben works the parts, listening to the satisfying clunks and clicks as the gun becomes whole again, and only when it’s done does he glance over to see Harry dozing again on a wooden chair underneath a large sun parasol with his arm resting on the wooden table to the side of the bunker door. Ben turns round to stare down into the valley and feels a rush of emotions pouring through his mind. Like they’ve been held back by being occupied with working the gun, but now, with nothing to do for a minute, they come rushing back, and the sudden onset makes everything feel worse than before.

‘Ben.’

He turns back to see her smiling warmly and motioning for him to continue.

It’s been a week now. A week of running and circuit training. A week of physical exercise and healthy food. Chicken, rice, vegetables, fruit and more water than he has ever drunk in his life. Some of the food comes precooked and hot. He doesn’t question it or ask where it comes from. He doesn’t care. Harry had a plate full of pork chops two nights ago with a bowl of chips to go with them. Ben eats what Safa tells him to eat. Ben drinks what she tells him to drink. He sleeps when told. He is a man–child slipping further down a black tunnel of depression. It’s been a week of nightmares and waking up bathed in sweat feeling terrified.

‘Ben . . . keep going.’

‘Okay.’

The day ends. The seventh day since they arrived. She packs the pistols away as Harry heads inside. Ben stands by the edge, staring down into the valley.

‘You did really well,’ she says, checking each pistol before placing them in the bag. ‘Ben?’ she calls when he doesn’t respond.

‘Huh?’ He turns round, that expression back on his face. The one she keeps seeing when he drifts off and she has to call him back to the now.

‘You did well today.’

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘Getting there,’ she says.

He nods.

‘One week today,’ she says conversationally. ‘Goes quick, really.’

He nods and pushes his hands into his pockets. She looks at the stubble on his jaw and the bags under his eyes and notices the weird contrast. He is already healthier than he was a week ago. He is eating good, nutritious food and drinking plenty of water. He’s exercising and has colour in his cheeks but the broken sleep and poor mental health are having an effect too. She smiles warmly. ‘We should celebrate.’ She winces inwardly at the crass word. ‘Well, not celebrate, but . . . you know . . . mark the occasion.’

He doesn’t nod this time. He shrugs instead.

‘Maybe join me and Harry for a beer tonight.’

‘Ah,’ he says, looking down at the ground. ‘I’ll probably turn in.’

‘Have a beer with us. The sunsets are amazing out here.’

‘Maybe,’ he mumbles.