It was the young woman he’d talked to last week, outside the building. What was her name?

‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Do you remember?’ Her voice was low, conspiratorial.

‘It’s – it’s Esme, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Quickly, follow me.’

And he did so.

They ascended a staircase to the first walkway. Many of the flats had boarded-up windows and doors. But the ones taken over were bright and noisy. At the end of the corridor Esme ducked through a doorway into a flat. Hobbes followed her inside, into the darkness, total, and the silence, total. He breathed easily, not daring to move.

‘Where are you?’

She was still whispering: ‘Just follow me.’

Through an inner doorway. Another room filled with rubbish and broken furniture. No one had lived here for a long time. Stale air, freezing cold. And then another door, another room, where a third door had been crudely cut into one of the walls, making an entranceway to the next flat along. Ragged, exposed brickwork. They were now safely enclosed in warmth and peace, a living area. People were glimpsed through side doors, music still playing, but softer now, and the lights muted, dark red or blue. Faces of young people, their eyes either wide open at the sight of him, such an old person in their midst, or glazed and lost to another world, or closed entirely, cutting out reality. And they moved on. He heard voices, snatches of conversation, saw a man dancing alone in a single room, the walls and floor stripped bare, no furniture, no fittings, only the young man, his naked chest glistening with sweat. And they moved on further, through one door after another, until they came out on to a walkway, and then another set of stairs. Upwards. Another door. A room lit with fairy lights, luminous stars painted on the walls and ceiling. Hobbes didn’t know where he was. The building was a labyrinth. Until at last Esme led the way into another space, a grotto, a sweet-smelling glade lit with purple lamps, lined with books, and the walls decorated with artworks, amateur paintings and drawings.

‘This is where I live,’ Esme said. ‘Do you like it?’ She had a proud look on her face.

It was a clean room, a delightful habitat. Incense burning.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice room.’

He felt that his speech was slowing. His body was heavy. His eyes wandered here and there, slightly out of focus. He watched through a haze as Esme bent down to a tea chest that served as a table. She opened a wooden box and took something out. He saw it in her hand, shining in the glow of an Anglepoise lamp. It was a key.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked. ‘I need to find my son.’ He felt that he’d only just remembered the reason for his visit.

‘Sssh. I’m taking you there. Only a little while now.’