Sheppey is a dystopian vision of what life might be like in post-Brexit England. The Scots have declared independence, Ireland is reunited, and Wales is on the verge of rebellion. On the Isle of Sheppey, meanwhile, the second Johnson administration has built a multi-acre detention centre that houses the many prisoners, political and otherwise, that the State has seen fit to bang up. It’s a tale of despair and defiance, and touches on some of the stories that came out of The Jungle camp for marooned asylum seekers at Calais. It’s relentlessly claustrophobic, and in places extremely violent. The writing is both vivid and tender, a kick in the ribs, and the softest of embraces. By the end, even the second time I read it, I was nearly in tears.

‘It’s brilliant,’ Evelyn murmurs at last. ‘I doubt we’ll get anything else in this league. I’d publish it tomorrow.’

‘That good?’

‘That good. Maybe even better.’

We spend the weekend in Prague. Evelyn has never been here before, and she loves it. I’ve taken the precaution of consulting the local weather forecast and I’ve decided that late afternoon on the Sunday offers the best setting for the moment I unscrew Pavel’s lid, upend the container over the balustrade of the bridge, give it a good shake, and watch his ash-grey remains settle on the river and drift slowly away downstream.

The forecast delivers all that it’s promised. By Sunday afternoon, we’ve attended a couple of concerts, eaten in a wonderful restaurant on the other side of the river, and walked our legs off exploring corners of the city where, according to the receptionist at our hotel, tourists never go. On Sunday morning, as a gesture, I even accompanied Evelyn to church.

Now, the light is dying over the domes and spires of this wonderful city, and as we choose a spot for me to say goodbye to Pavel, I realize just why he loved the place so much. Unscrewing the lid of the container proves far harder than I’d ever imagined, and in the end we have to enlist the help of a young passer-by, who speaks no English. He has a go himself, but it’s only with a penknife that he manages to get the lid off. By now, mercifully, it’s nearly dark, but he shows no curiosity about what’s inside the container, and leaves us with a nod and a cheery smile.

‘Well, my lovely?’ Evelyn is looking at the container. ‘You want me to leave you alone?’

‘Yes, please.’ I nod. ‘Just give me a minute.’

‘Take as long as you like.’ She gestures towards the end of the bridge. ‘I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.’