Driving with the top down in the wet was a new low. Or it should have been. They held towels over their heads, wrapped themselves like nuns. Max took a sideways look at Damien and started to laugh, and soon they were both laughing – at each other and at themselves. What else could they do? They were stuck with the rain and with each other.

‘God help us,’ Max declared as he pulled out onto the main road, indicating and speeding up to merge with the other cars. They had to get to Santiago de Compostela, where they had a booking and where they could, at least, be sure of finding a covered parking station. It pissed down for three hours, all the way there. They spent the night in a rental apartment in the centre of town, relieved to be out of the weather. Dinner was two greasy pizzas eaten out of cardboard boxes. It tasted better than anything that Damien could remember, and they toasted their journey with cans of beer from the convenience store downstairs.

The next day, they woke to the light of morning. Or a grey drizzly almost-light. The weather hadn’t cleared, though at least it wasn’t pouring. They left the wet contents of their bags strung over chairs and tables, airing. Walking to the cathedral, they fell in with sodden pilgrims. Seeing them trudging with their packs, Damien felt humbled and impressed. They had slogged it out on foot while he and Max sped here in a car. In a convertible, no less. And arguing non-stop.

At the entry to the cathedral, more pilgrims milled about. Damien had to wait for Max, who went looking for a toilet. He shivered in his clothes, which were damp from the day before, until his cousin at last came to join him in the line. This meant cutting in front of most of the waiting pilgrims, which he did by hurrying past them, calling, ‘Forgiveness! Forgiveness!’

His manner was apologetic, hapless and silly. Everything about him meant you had to forgive him, and also they were pilgrims so they couldn’t reasonably refuse. Damien felt bad that he’d goaded Max on the drive here. He should have taken the higher ground, been more tolerant of his shit-stirring. He’d given him a hard time about the house – not just about the earthquake damage, but about the ownership question too. In truth, he had no intention of trying to claim the place, but he hadn’t told Max that, wanting to let him sweat it.