‘Look. It might be that each argument they make seems justified on its own. And you may even find yourself nodding along at the start. So what, there’s a few more people using the schools or the doctors or whatever, but they turn that into some huge threat, like things are being overrun. And some money has to be given to house asylum seekers at first, because they’re not allowed to work. But my mum’s been working for years now, and her taxes have easily paid back what we owed. But they turn that into words like handouts and scroungers and fraud, and labels like refugees, asylum seekers. Whatever, once there’s a label, people are never seen as more than that, you know? You don’t see people in the news described as ‘potential IT Consultant’ do you? They’re just ‘immigrant’. Then you get hate, then you get violence. But the comeback to all of it is just realising we’re all people. We’re all trying to be alive in this world, you know? It’s about getting to know people for who they are, not what you think they represent. Basically, it’s just being human.’

The poem from Mrs Burgoyne’s class comes back to me. How stupid I was. I knew I was doing it at the time, ignoring the whole point of it, enjoying the role that Alan and Vince had cast me in, seeing the world in the most simple terms – ally, enemy. It had felt easy at the time, being a soldier, and I’d equated easy with right. But, recalling it now, a new wash of shame goes through me. ‘Yes,’ I manage to choke.

‘And you’re human, Josh. Like me, right? You know about compassion, and kindness, and love. He taught you that.’

He’s pointing to the tree, and I nod. The tears in my eyes feel cool, oddly cleansing, natural. I don’t brush them away like I would if I were talking to anyone else. I wonder if Ahmed would understand about the bucket I’ve felt has been coming up through my body these last few weeks. Is that what’s inside it, shame? These tears feel cleaner than that. Perhaps it’s shame that’s been trying to pull it back down, keep it in the murky dark.

‘But listen, Josh. I think I’ve found out something over the last few weeks. Since before the holidays, there’s been much less traffic on that site. Much less activity. Now that could mean one of two things. One, everyone’s packed up over Christmas and hasn’t gone back to work yet. Who knows, maybe the Ghost of Christmas Present has visited them and they’ve all decided on an ordinary life full of Dickensian charm.’

I can’t help laughing as Ahmed does a near-perfect impression of Mrs Burgoyne in full flow.