The sea swells softly beneath them, the rise and fall making it seem as though they are resting on the chest of an enormous sleeping beast. The stars that seemed so faint burn brightly now, increasing exponentially in number as layer after layer reveals itself. At first, like dusty spores on the black atmosphere, they ignite and sparkle like fireworks. Is the sky coming closer to him, Will wonders, or is he rising to meet it? He supposes that it hardly matters, Newton’s third law making a guest appearance in his scrambled mind to remind him that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If he’s moving, then so is the sky.

‘I’m so baked, Parks,’ Alfie mumbles. ‘Baked to buggery.’

He’s on the opposite side of the boat but Will is sure he can see Alfie’s face close up to his as he says the words, reminding him of those times when he dozes in front of the telly but can still see the show in his head, matching up with the sound.

Shards of colour spear through the black night, purples and blues and emerald green. It puts Will in mind of that glass picture Nain made him for his birthday. The thought elicits a pang of worry, a concern reaching in from the ordinary world. But he knows she’s OK. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he’s certain: Nain is safe tonight.

The filing system inside Will’s head continues its disintegration. No longer is there a grid in which knowledge and memory and ideas are kept regimented. Instead they tumble and dance and make new friends with each other. Will has the sense of his mind needing to escape from a prison that he never knew existed. It seems so obvious now, how his brain is sealed inside his head – dark, quiet, protected. Caged. Fed only through tiny wires that connect to remote ears and eyes and nostrils. But his brain seems to be breaking free right now. It is out there, exposed to everything – unreduced, unfiltered.

‘What was that?’ Will asks.

‘Baked,’ Alfie says. ‘I was commenting on how motherfucking stoned I am.’

‘Not that. After that.’

‘Didn’t say a word.’

‘You didn’t, did you?’ And Will knows it’s true.

Did he hear anything? Maybe not. But he was aware of something. He is aware of something.

Of someone.

‘Say something?’ Will asks, although he’s not sure any sound actually leaves his mouth.

There’s something. It’s distant, yet it’s right in front of him at the same time.

‘Who are you?’ Will asks. He’s not seeing with his eyes. Nor is he listening with his ears. But it’s coming to him.

Faintly, barely perceptibly, a connection is made.

‘Tell me who you are,’ Will says.

We’ve come together at last. How I’ve longed for this moment.