He hits his fist against the door. ‘Fucking hell.’ He pulls it open with force, a rush of air hits me full pelt in the face. He hurries down the drive to his van. I use my coat to cover the book against the rain, pulling the front door shut behind me. ‘Get in,’ he shouts. ‘I’ll drive you to the bus stop.’

Do I want to get in a van with him? In a confined space? ‘Don’t worry,’ I shout back. ‘I’ll walk.’ I look up at the heavy black clouds. ‘It’s only a shower.’

‘Get in!’ he insists, his fingers tapping on the top of his van. There’s a strange tone in his voice, some sort of vulnerability. I can’t just leave him in this state. If we go back far enough, it’s my fault he’s here in the first place! I run down the path, jumping into the passenger seat as he climbs in. He slams his door shut and the force makes the glove box drop open. He swears, brushing my leg as he reaches across to push it shut. He doesn’t bother with his seat belt as he tries to start the engine, swearing again as it misfires. I nervously try to buckle up, though my shaking hands make me hash the simple task. He takes the seat belt off me, forcing it into the clip. I clasp Susan’s book tightly on my knee, wishing I could check if the paper cutting was still trapped within it. He revs the engine to get it going, then lurches out into the road, the speed forcing me back into my seat.

‘I’ll drop you outside Mitchell’s,’ he grunts over the sound of an overworked first gear. We jerk from crossroad to crossroad on the backstreets away from Susan’s house; navigating speed bumps that make the van’s suspension thud.

‘Be careful, Rhys,’ I plead, holding on tight to the edge of my seat.

He swings the car out onto the dual carriageway at Meadowhead, joining a queue of traffic that leads up to the roundabout. ‘Come on,’ he shouts, banging his hand on the steering wheel. ‘Why is there always so much fucking traffic around here at this time?’

I don’t respond. I expect there isn’t a right answer. I want to reach out, to calm him. I’ve never seen someone look so young and so old at the same time, so confused and angry and hurt. And that’s when I realise, without doubt, that I’m not in danger. But he might be. In danger of himself. In danger of allowing whatever this situation has triggered to push the self-destruct button we all have. My heart still races, adrenaline still courses, giving me the sense that I’m outside my body, looking on, but if I don’t try to help, well… I don’t want to think about it.

‘I’m not sure what happened back there. I don’t know what this is about, Rhys,’ I clasp my hands together, finding strength from within myself. ‘If you need to talk, I can listen. Or I can find someone. You don’t need to—’ He quickly changes lanes, almost knocking a cyclist from her bike. ‘Careful!’ I panic, reaching out to steady myself on the dashboard, checking back to make sure she’s okay. ‘Slow down, please.’