Pierce gave me a look, and I ignored it. I had indulged him long enough. I turned away and began to walk, and (to my mild surprise) he followed. A particularly energetic crash came from the Renewosaurs, and the crowd gibbered and yelped its pleasure.

Laura Dern’s face filled the screen above. ‘Run,’ she said, through gritted teeth.

We returned to the ‘Village Green’, where the bars were concentrated. We sat on stools made from fresh-cut sections of tree trunks – ‘upcycled’ from the mature planes that had grown on the estate, and available for sale, a label said. The table was an upended barrel cut in half at the waist, and everything was low down, like furniture in a primary school. Pierce went to fetch the drinks. The crowds were slackening, going home. Men in baseball caps and hi-vis vests – a look completely out of step with the woodsy, casual vibe – were emptying litter bins.

Waiting for Pierce to get back from the bar, where tattooed artisans pulled plastic pints using pumps fashioned from the handlebars of Chopper bikes, I took my phone from my pocket. I wanted it ready to record a confession. I was still turning over the loss of the DVRs, more in the gut than in the mind, a physical sensation, churning beneath the sedative helplessness that paralysed useful thought about the problem. How could I have been so stupid, so negligent? I was accustomed to regarding myself in the worst possible light, but even by my low standards this lapse was difficult to countenance. How had it happened? How could it have happened? It was perfectly natural that I, a walking disaster, should suffer such a calamity, but putting aside the moral and chemical shortcomings that had permitted it to happen, what were the simple mechanics of the disappearance? Since I had discovered the loss earlier, an obsessive part of my back brain had been relentlessly milling the question, and only producing more questions. Fallen from my bag? Improbable. Taken by an opportunistic thief? Doubtful, when a perfectly good laptop was right next to them. Had I taken them out of my bag for some reason – to show Quin?

Quin had been there. The more I sifted through the murky memories, the more his presence felt connected to the absence of the DVRs. Had I told him about the interview, about the recordings? We had talked about Pierce. Had I given him the DVRs, or somehow invited him to take them? Had I wanted them to disappear?

There wasn’t much sense to that, but it would fit with another mystery that was stirring within. Why wasn’t I more upset? I should, by rights, be paralysed with despair. It took so little to make me want to give up everything, to surrender and die. If I missed a Tube I found myself wanting to jump in front of the next one. I was coming to the end of the week almost empty-handed, with no De Chauncey interview and precious little to show from the Pierce interview. In less than thirty-six hours I would have to account for myself and I had nothing but lies and allegations. But here I was, coasting along, letting Pierce amuse himself.