‘Why are you snapping at me?’ he asks while pushing the little brass bullets into the magazine.

‘Because you’re not trying.’

‘I am. I’m trying.’

‘Try harder.’

‘What for?’

She draws breath and looks away as though counting to ten before answering. ‘Because you need to learn how to shoot, that’s why.’

‘Why do I?’

‘Know what?’ she says, giving him a withering look. ‘Do what you want.’ She lifts and fires. Emptying her magazine with perfect shots that seem timed and precise. Harry does the same. Firing into the wall of sandbags with tiny adjustments made to his grip and stance.

‘Good,’ Harry shouts when he finishes the first magazine, nodding at the pistol in his hands. ‘Good weapon.’

The morning passes. All three shooting sandbags as they work through the pistols on the table.

Safa pins targets on to the sandbags but doesn’t give any instruction as to what Ben should aim for. He shoots them anyway and learns how to aim to get the bullet closer to the thing he wants to hit.

At lunch they go into the main room. Ben sits down at the table in the usual funk of complete depression. It takes over five minutes before he realises she’s got a bowl of food for herself and is eating quietly. He feels the blush of shame in his cheeks at the expectation he had that she would get the food and drink for him. He feels so stupid that for a few seconds he doesn’t do anything but stay still and look down at his hands in his lap. Then time passes and it becomes too late to get any food as that would signify that he was waiting all this time for her to get it.

‘You not hungry?’ she asks eventually, but doesn’t look at him and in that second he gives up caring completely.

‘Yeah I am,’ he says, reaching out for a croissant. He does not give a shit. He never asked for this and he does not want to be here. He shifts the responsibility away and stares round in disdain at the fucking bare concrete walls he hates so much.

‘We’re staying in this afternoon,’ she says.

‘Awesome,’ he replies, not bothering to look at her.

‘We’ll do unarmed combat.’

‘Yeah?’ he asks, faking a sudden interest. She looks at him sharply, narrowing her eyes. ‘Enjoy that.’

‘Ben . . .’

‘What?’ He stares over the table at her then sees Harry shift position, hunching lower over his food with a grunt. ‘Problem?’ Ben asks him.

Harry doesn’t reply but focuses on his food. They fall into silence. Ben drinks water, feeling a strange sense of liberation at not giving a flying fuck any more.

‘Ready?’ she asks once his water is drained.

‘No.’

‘Come on.’ She starts to rise as Harry scrapes his chair back.

‘Have fun,’ Ben says, pushing his chair back.

‘Where are you going?’