It wouldn’t be any easier for John or for Schmidt than for me, I knew that. They’d be as worried about me as I would be frantic with apprehension for them. But they were right, damn them. Larry would be just as pleased to have me as John. If they catch you, John had said, then I’ll come after you. So would Schmidt, the little hero.

They took my silence for agreement. Feisal got to his feet. ‘The market is still open. What are we going to need?’

Schmidt had cashed all his traveller’s checks, so we had money to burn. After Feisal had left, shopping list in hand, we settled down to wait. Keith declined my offer to help with the dishes so I joined John on the floor and Schmidt started singing to the dog.

Don’t ask me why. I guess singing calmed Schmidt’s nerves. The dog loved it. So did John. ‘Let’s have “Detour on the Highway to Heaven” again, Schmidt,’ he suggested.

The third verse – ‘If you ever get out of the fast lane – ’ fascinated Keith to such an extent that he squatted down on the rug next to the dog and requested an encore. Under cover of Schmidt’s (and the dog’s) howls, I said softly, ‘You rotten cheat. You already know those songs.’

‘I am acquainted with the entire spectrum of western music,’ John said modestly. He put his arm around me and I leaned against his shoulder.

‘Then why did you pretend you’d never heard them?’

‘I hadn’t. Not as Schmidt performed them. I have been waiting all my life to hear him sing “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky-tonk Angels.”’

Schmidt was explaining to Keith about travelling melodies. ‘You will find the same tune used for many different songs. The one I have just sung to you is the same one used for that tender love song, “I Am Thinking Tonight of My Blue Eyes . . .”’

‘Don’t sing it, Schmidt,’ I begged.

‘No, not our song,’ John agreed. He was shaking with amusement. ‘How about “Great Speckled Bird” instead, Schmidt?’

‘Ach, ja, that is right. Do you know that one, Keith? The larged spotted bird is the church, you see. “The outer birds all flopped around her . . .”’

John’s face took on a look of unholy glee. ‘I’m going to get him a guitar. No – a harmonica.’

I hid my face against his shoulder. I was laughing. Laughing so hard I cried.