“Adam, wait . . . please . . . Jus’ two minutes . . . then I’ll go.”

Tyler swallows. His mouth is dry and stale with beer. He turns to look at Oscar. “What do you want?”

Oscar looks out through the glass doors into the dimly lit parking lot. “Is it him?” he asks again. “Is it my dad?”

“I can’t answer that.”

The foyer is hot and stuffy, and Tyler feels the sudden urge to be outside again. His head is swimming and it’s hard to breathe.

“I don’t know what to do,” says Oscar. “I can’t go home.”

“There must be somewhere. Someone.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” He starts toward the door and then stops again, swaying slightly. “I fucked this up,” he says, standing with his back to Tyler. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. I mean . . . I didn’t . . .” The lift arrives with a gentle chime just as Oscar falls to his knees and vomits noisily onto the carpet.

“Shit.” Tyler rubs a hand over his face.

Maybe it’s because he knows what it is to lose a father. Or maybe in the light of Jordan’s identification of his character flaws, he feels the need to reach out to someone, to prove he’s human after all. Maybe it’s something else. Some primal urge he doesn’t let himself dwell on too long. Whatever the reason, he finds himself saying, “All right, you’d better come up.”

day two

The Great Fire of London, 1666

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The Great Fire of London, 1666

So. They have found him.

You find it strange to know he’s no longer there, tucked up safely behind his wall. You remember how it used to be, how he might be lurking round any corner, lying in wait to pop up when your guard was down.

You remember this bus shelter. You stare at the ramshackle structure, barely holding itself together after all these years, and in your head he’s still screaming. That red-hot anger rippling through your veins. All you can do is find a way to distract him. Remember the fires. Stay focused on the flame.