‘They’re all on probation. They only do this because it’s better than being in custody on remand.’

‘Do they like vegetables?’

‘I doubt it. But you gotta start somewhere.’

The driver from the bank takes the rotovator out of the van, starts it, and ploughs up the rest of the space, watched by the three junkies on probation. They show a little more interest when the bags of compost – donated by a sponsor – are opened and the time comes to throw it around. But they lack stamina and Fleur and Kim and the driver work hard to get the job done. Fleur enjoys it. The compost is clean and rich and wholesome.

It’s ridiculous, she thinks, to have a hired van, two multi-millionaires and the van’s driver trying to make a vegetable garden with three junkies who are only here in order to stay out of jail. But she doesn’t say it.

‘The school kids are great,’ says Kim a little desperately. ‘Believe me, really motivated. We’ve got six gardens up and running in schools and they get to eat the vegetables for their lunch.’

‘Dinner, Kim, they call it dinner. English kids hate vegetables. They think they are poisonous.’

‘You would be surprised. Anyway, this is an educational project. With your acting training you could make a great speaker in schools.’

The junkies believe they have done their stint and go and sit in the minibus with the obese driver, who has been eating Mini Creme Eggs and smoking for the last hour. She starts the van and drives away. The junkies are slumped. Slumping is what they do best, their life’s work.

‘This is fun,’ says Kim.

Fleur wonders if she is joking. It seems not. Between the two of them and the delivery driver they manage to plant a hundred little lettuces, a hundred cabbages, and some mounds of potatoes, which have to be banked up and watered. They leave the watering to the driver. Kim says the canal probably carries Weil’s disease.

‘Do you do this all the time? All this digging and stuff? I’m totally knackered.’

‘No, we have a pretty good band of volunteers – expenses only – who really do the work.’

‘So the kids and the junkies and the schools and so on, what are they for?’

‘Fleur, we have to work with the community. We can’t just say eat your greens. We’re demonstrating, not farming.’

‘Oh, OK. It’s very impressive whatever. I really found it rewarding.’

They leave their wellies and T-shirts in the van, say goodbye to the driver and head across the canal over the rat-water to a converted warehouse that contains an organic café – like everything else around here, a little tired and grubby – and order a latte. Kim’s Mini is parked safely outside.

‘Fleur, what are we going to do about Simon?’

‘In what sense?’