‘I am,’ Harry says almost cheerfully. ‘Harry Madden. British Army. I were dropped a few miles out from the harbour. I blew the town to light a path for the bombers so the charges could be set on the U-boats.’ He speaks matter-of-factly without any trace of humour or deceit. ‘So . . .’ He pauses, staring from Safa to Ben. ‘You can pack it in. You don’t need to do the mind games cos I admit who I am.’ He drains his cup and places it gently down at his feet. ‘Oh, and I was in civilian clothing too, so that makes me a spy. I won’t fight or struggle if you execute me now, but if you hold me here, I will consider it my duty to try and escape.’

Silence follows. Safa and Ben unmoving as they watch him settle back in the chair and stretch his legs out. ‘You’ve done well with your cups anyway.’

‘Cups?’ Safa asks.

‘Aye, your plastics,’ he says. ‘Good stuff. You might be the enemy, but credit given where credit’s due.’

‘Oh my fucking God,’ Ben stammers. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Good English. Study in England?’ Harry asks.

‘In England?’ Safa asks.

‘Before the war,’ Harry says.

‘What year is it?’ she asks him with a quizzical look.

‘Nineteen forty-three,’ he replies.

‘Of course it is,’ she says witheringly. ‘And you’re the real Harry Madden and he’s the real Ben Ryder.’

‘I am,’ Ben says to her. ‘But he isn’t the real Harry Madden. You think they think you had something to do with the attack on Holborn? I can tell them I saw you trying to stop the train.’ Ben speaks out to the room while pointing at Safa. ‘I saw this police officer running on the platform, she was in uniform and tried stopping the driver by running towards the train . . . I think that’s important.’ He pauses as she glares at him. ‘No, I really do think that’s important. Think about it, why would you run towards the train if you knew it would blow up?’

‘I didn’t know it would blow up,’ she says angrily. ‘And that was five years ago.’

‘You blew Holborn up?’ Harry asks with a pained expression. ‘That’s not military. Civvies would’ve been down there. That’s not on.’

Three conversations going on at cross-purposes. Ben and Safa feel like they’re drunk and out of sync with everything else. A feeling of confusion with a sense of panic starting to rise. It’s too hot, too close and they have tissue stuffed up their noses.

‘You can’t treat people like this,’ Ben says. ‘What about the Human Rights Act?’

‘Oh, nice touch.’ Safa offers a humourless smile.

‘What?’

‘Human Rights Act? The one that was abolished in twenty eighteen? That one? Like I said, nice touch.’