‘Vaseline,’ I say, pointing to it.

‘What’s that?’

‘For the hand. Happened to a friend of mine recently. He said if you put Vaseline on your hand it doesn’t rub so much. Have to keep changing the wrapping on the handle though. Otherwise it gets all manky.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks. I’ll give it a try. Nice to see you, Josh.’

I watch Dan go, lumbering back to John’s stall, giving his boss a friendly wave.

Turning back down the high street, I move quickly past the shoppers. There’s something about Dan’s loneliness that’s upset me. I guess it upset me that first time, at the Crown. But I was too busy then with feeling like a man, like I was being accepted. Like I was standing in a kind of spotlight. And then with feeling like a caught rabbit when I realised it was actually the headlights of a truck coming straight for me. Dan is a man who’ll grab at the first human contact he can find. Funny that the people he did find were people who have no interest in human contact at all. The opposite, in fact.

I’m in a kind of reverie when I feel a hand on my arm. I almost jump in the air. But it’s Dana. Just Dana, who’d been waiting for me in another alleyway between buildings. And she smiles at me.

‘Well done for getting rid of him. Come on.’

A few moments later, and we’re standing at the wide entrance to the police station, its rotating door quietly turning.

‘Ready?’ she asks.

‘Ready.’

Inside, it’s darker than the street and instantly feels strange, despite how recently I was here. I suppose it’s the kind of building that shrugs off familiarity and always manages to look inhospitable. A female officer is sitting behind the glass screen. She looks up as we come in.

I try to sound cheerful. ‘Hi, I’d like to­—’

‘Hang on. Start again.’ The officer flicks a switch and there’s a tinny squeak as the microphone on my side turns on.

‘Hello, I’d like to change a statement I made last month, please.’ I hear the echo of my amplified voice, coming back at me through her microphone to the speakers on my side. It’s like having a conversation with someone on the other side of the world.

‘What statement? Do you have a case number?’

‘No, it was an accident involving a cyclist. I was involved.’

‘Right, that doesn’t really help. Were you the cyclist?’

‘No, but they thought I might have caused it. The accident.’

‘And you don’t have the case number?’

‘No. I don’t know if there was a case number. I don’t know if …’ I can see where this is going. My plan to talk to a familiar face – to make this easier – might not work after all.