The headquarters for JPH Haulage and Sons is down a track that opens onto a muddy space about the size of a football pitch. There are a few truck cabs parked at the far end. The office is a green modular building on stilts, it’s warm looking against a large wall built out of cinder blocks. I notice there’s razor wire strung across the top. Cara reaches to open her door.

“No, Cara, you’re staying in the car.”

“Don’t be like that,” she says but then I take her wrist, probably firmer than I need to.

“We had an agreement that you’d do as I say. Don’t make me regret bringing you with me.” I’m using the same warning tone I use for Jakey when I need him to really listen to me. She looks at me. I know I sound patronizing, but at least she recognizes I’m serious. She nods, I let go of her wrist, and she shuts the door.

“Keep the doors locked and the engine running, OK?” She doesn’t argue. I feel her watching as I walk towards the office. I find myself worrying, of all things, that all this trauma will make Cara lose her spark, her courage. I push the thoughts from my mind and make myself focus on the sign that hangs inside the door in front of me: OUT OF HOURS PLEASE RING THE BELL FOR ASSISTANCE.

The bell feels sticky under my finger. There’s black paper stuck up in the glass panels of the door so whoever is outside can’t see what’s going on inside. I try the bell again and a sharp female voice calls from inside.

“Larry, that you?”

I take a deep breath, try to keep London out of my voice.

“No, I’m not Larry, I’m just here to ask after some work.”

The modular building quivers as heavy footsteps approach the door.

“Oh. Not from the council, are you?” She sounds Cornish born and bred.

“Not from the council, no.” I soften my vowels in a way I hope sounds authentic. A key rattles in the lock before the thin plastic door opens, followed by a puff of stale cigarette smoke. Her large body fills the doorway. She has thin, wispy hair and small eyes like raisins stuck in the thick dough of her face. She doesn’t try to hide what she’s doing as she looks me up and down. I suddenly feel lost, totally out of my depth. I struggle to remember why I’m here.

“What’s yer name?”

“Jon, my name’s Jon.”

“You wanting work, are you? Cos we’re not taking anyone new on, not now, so if yer here for work yer may as well leave right now.”

She bends her head and hacks a cough that sounds well rooted into the crook of her arm. There’ll be no charming her, I know. My only chance is to be upfront.

“I’m looking for someone, one of your drivers.”

“Oh yeah?” Her dark eyes move across my face.