Outside, De Chauncey opened a large branded umbrella. As it unfurled I was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. I looked up to see what might have been the cause, but saw nothing – nothing apart from the plume, towering over the Shoreditch rooftops, made distinct from the low rainclouds behind by its flickering internal illumination, the upcast light of the fires beneath. No way was it as far as Barking – it could only be a couple of streets distant. The nausea coiled within again as I smelled the smoke, the shattered molecules and chains of poison on the fly.

Thunder grumbled. That’s what I had seen – lightning, not the first signs of a fit or a stroke.

‘Christ, this weather,’ De Chauncey said.

‘I’m surprised this rain doesn’t put out the fire,’ I said.

‘What fire?’

‘Out in Barking,’ I said. ‘The big fire there?’

‘Oh, that,’ De Chauncey said. The frown that had creased his placid face disappeared. ‘I thought they put that out already.’

I froze, stomach churning. ‘I heard it was still alight.’

‘Well, it can’t be serious, or it would be in the news.’

‘I guess so.’

We started walking. I switched my phone to record and flashed it at De Chauncey. ‘Do you mind …?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to stop me if I go on.’

‘Go on all you want,’ I said. ‘You were telling me about the software that Bunk wrote for you. The robo-landlord.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ De Chauncey said. ‘Yeah, we’ve been working on it for years, it’s beautiful.’

‘But I don’t understand it,’ I said. ‘People hate dealing with lettings agents and corporate landlords, sure, but why would they prefer a machine? Isn’t that worse?’

De Chauncey chuckled, then looked sideways at me, eyes narrow, appraising. ‘It’s a little sensitive. F.A.Q.’s a mate of yours, isn’t he? I saw on Tamesis.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.