He broke into a smile this time.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You,’ he said. ‘You’re what’s funny. “Where’s the camper van?” What a total waste of fucking time.’

That stopped me – and he could see it.

‘I had it crushed.’

I frowned. ‘What?’

‘The camper van. It’s history. No one will ever find it.’

‘Why would you –’

‘No,’ he said, cutting me off, his voice harsher than ever. ‘No more questions. This is how it’s going to play out from here on in, okay?’ Once more I wondered if he was sick, his nature – his actions, his expression and his voice – so inconsistent. ‘You’re going to go back to London, and anything you’ve got squirrelled away down there on Black Gale, any notes you’ve made about anything, you’re going to rip up and flush away. Before that, and after I’m gone, you’re going to set up a nice little fire in the chimney over there and burn all the shit that was on the wall as well – every last scrap of paper. I want this place so spotlessly clean, so free of any reminders of the digging around that you and your Irish friend on the floor have been doing, that it’ll be like you were never here.’ He glanced at Healy, on his side now in a foetal position, still moaning gently, and then used the toe of a boot to prod him in the ribs. ‘You’d better make that clear to Seamus here because, judging by the trouble he gave me in Leeds tonight, he obviously has a hard time understanding basic English.’

He returned his gaze to me.

‘Are you following me so far, Raker?’

I just stared at him.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t hear you?’

I nodded.