‘Absolutely,’ says Rose. ‘And one last thing I think you’ll find interesting. He had his memory jogged by something on TV the other day – which is a good thing in itself, because it suggests he’s letting his memories come back. I don’t know how useful this might be at this stage, but he says the men in the flat used nicknames for themselves. Characters from The Magic Roundabout.’

There’s laughter as those old enough to remember recall the programme and do impressions.

‘You know what,’ says Dallabrida, ‘there’s an actual Magic Roundabout in Swindon. That’s what they call it. I’ve been round it, and it’s a soddin’ nightmare, traffic coming at you from all sides.’

‘Is that true, Leon?’ asks Naylor.

Dallabrida winks.

‘Would I lie to you?’ he says.

But Campbell is frowning.

‘Just a thought,’ he says. ‘Bit of a wild card. If there’s a Magic Roundabout in Swindon, might there be one in Newcastle, or Rochester or Sunderland?’

Hagen picks up his phone and opens a browser.

‘I think that would be too good to be true,’ says Naylor. ‘Found anything, Brad?’

There’s a look of surprise on Hagen’s face. He holds up the search results.

‘A bus route,’ he says. ‘Sunderland used to have a Magic Roundabout bus route.’

There’s silence.

‘Sunderland?’ asks Naylor. ‘A Magic Roundabout bus route in Sunderland?’

‘Yes,’ says Hagen, reading from the screen. ‘It went all round the town and along the river, apparently, for the shoppers.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ says Campbell. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Bradley, coming as you do from that part of the world.’

‘I’m from Gateshead, Sir,’ says Hagen evenly. ‘It’s a different place, like Windsor is different from Reading.’

But Campbell isn’t listening.

‘Let’s get to it, people,’ he says. ‘I think we just got our next lead.’

As Naylor puts the key in her door after her visit to the hairdresser’s, her phone begins to ring. Laden down with shopping, she hurries to open the door, drops her bags on the hall floor and digs her phone out of her coat pocket.

‘Hello, Ron.’

‘Merry Christmas.’

‘You’re being a bit previous. It’s days away yet.’ She glances in the hall mirror at her freshly blow-dried hair, all silky curls and with a level of shininess she could never hope to emulate herself, and decides it looks pretty good. ‘Though the festivities begin tonight, call-outs permitting. Big night out at Alfonso’s. Bet you wish you were joining us, don’t you?’

Ron laughs.