‘What is it, Ollie?’ Mr Clark croaked from his sleeping bag, his eyes only half open.

I was shaking. The words couldn’t make it out.

Mr Farley awoke on the other side of their tent. In one movement, he was out of his bed and kneeling in front of me. ‘What in God’s name’s happened to you?’

Still I couldn’t speak. He dug in his possessions and retrieved a fleecy jacket. ‘Wrap yourself up in that. You’ll freeze to death.’

Mr Clark slowly drew himself into a seated position and waited for what I had to say. Through the tears and the shaking of my jaw, I told them what happened. About Dimi coming for me, about the crossbow, the machete, about them trying to force me to hang myself. Mr Farley’s nasal breathing grew louder as I explained; his eyes got redder.

‘Right,’ he snapped as I reached the end. He stood and kicked his sleeping bag from beneath him, stretching his trademark Pringle jumper over his hairy beer belly.

‘Hold on a mo, Colin,’ Mr Clark said. He looked at me as if something was troubling him. ‘Are you sure about all this, Ollie?’

‘You heard the lad,’ Mr Farley said, unzipping the door.

‘Listen for a second, Colin. I checked those crossbows in yesterday. There’s no way I left one in circulation. I even counted the bolts back in. Thirty-two went out and I collected thirty-two when we were done.’

‘What about the knife, Noel?’

‘Well, I don’t know about that.’

‘One way to settle it,’ Mr Farley said as he stepped outside.

Mr Clark and I followed as he stomped over to the Mackies’ tent.

‘Wakey-wakey, lads!’ he shouted, ripping the canvas open. ‘Rise and fucking shine!’ He leaned inside. ‘Outside. Ten seconds. With your bags. Kit inspection.’

There were no arguments. No questions. Within a minute, Nate, Joey, Dimi and Amit were lined up on the field in T-shirts and boxers, their rucksacks at their feet. Mr Clark stood well back, shooting me the occasional sceptical glance.

‘Upside down,’ Mr Farley snapped at Amit. He obliged, scattering his belongings on the grass. Mr Farley dug through the stuff with his foot, soon content there was nothing illicit. ‘Clear it up.’

The other three bags were checked the same way. Each came up clear. There was something smug in Mr Clark’s expression now.

‘Just going to take a look inside,’ Mr Farley said, parting Joey and Dimi at the shoulders so he could gain entry. Sleeping bags were ejected at speed from the door of the tent. The wooden duckboards followed, landing in a bonfire-like heap on the field. Moments later, he emerged, holding a Nike drawstring bag. ‘And what have we here?’