‘Don’t talk about what you don’t understand, please,’ Will says. He’s surprised by his own tone of authority. It’s new.

‘Sorry. He was your mate, I know.’

‘Is my mate.’

‘Sure, sure. Any idea how he’s doing? In that place?’

‘You mean hospital?’

‘Yeah, yeah. Facility, whatever.’

‘He’s fine, Kris. He’s doing fine.’

‘Good to know,’ Kris Tring says, slinking back to his artwork.

Will heard nothing from Alfie in the days after he was taken away in that ambulance. He walked up and down Patten’s Island daily, surveying the Lim family’s bungalow on each pass, but Alfie hadn’t made it home. He sent messages, but none were delivered, Will unaware that Alfie’s iPhone lay atomized in an embankment, having been obliterated by an express train.

But yesterday, Will had a text from an unknown number. Alfie was just saying hi and apologizing for not being around. He’s an inpatient now at a psychiatric unit. It’s over a hundred miles away, so visiting is out of the question, but Will managed to talk him into FaceTiming.

Will wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he was surprised when Alfie looked entirely normal. It was awkward at first – listing off what he’d been up to, while Alfie listened and nodded along politely.

‘I don’t have to be here,’ Alfie said, when a lull in Will’s monologue became too uncomfortable.

‘Oh, OK. That’s good.’

‘No, seriously, Parks. That’s not the delusion of a mental patient.’

‘I didn’t think –’

‘But you did, though. You thought, Whatever you say, crazy bloke. I’ll just play along in case you get upset.’ Alfie grinned and it was like curtains being flung open on a bright morning. ‘Don’t let him get wound up, you’re thinking. Someone’ll have to stick an injection up his arse and it’ll be all my fault.’

‘Yeah, OK, maybe I … sorry.’

‘S’fine. What I’m saying is, I’m not sectioned.’

‘So why are you there?’

‘That’s the point, Parks. That’s what I need you to know.’ He looked straight into his webcam, voice rock-steady. ‘I’m here cos I don’t want to die.’

Will smiled, heat in the corner of his eyes. ‘You did want to.’

‘I was done. Out the game.’

‘I’m so sorry, mate. So sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, cuz. I fucked up. Fucked up royally.’

‘We could’ve fixed it,’ Will said.

Alfie shook his head. ‘Thing is, that morning, when they found me. They put me in the ambulance and I’m just – I don’t know – cold. Like I’ve been pumped full of anaesthetic, can’t feel shit, don’t care that I’m alive, don’t care that I’m not dead. Just nothing.’

‘You were in a bad place.’