‘Yes, sorry, forgot. And did you select your flat because it perfectly suits all your needs, or because of the rent?’

‘Because of the rent,’ I said. If it hadn’t been for the rent, I would still be living two floors above, in the flat I had occupied with Elise, occupied subsequently by Bella and Dan. But it was all in the same crater now.

‘And you only rent because you can’t afford to buy, right? I mean, renting is shit. But that’s just the way we’ve chosen to distribute housing, rather than by lottery, or bureaucrats deciding who lives where, neither of which would necessarily be more fair; instead it’s all done by market rationing, there’s a number attached to each property that sets who can and cannot live there. That information is more important than the physical matter. And again, there’s a psychological dimension. Sentiment. Harder to read, to splash up on a big screen, but it’s there. We’re going to be able to do it, soon.’

He paused. His eyes glittered with the reflected light of the board. He gestured to it with a sweep of the arm.

‘London is a machine, running software. And we can edit that software. We can intervene in the city’s thoughts about itself. We know something, Jack: crime’s coming back. The boom’s over, and a crime wave, it fits the political narrative all round. It’s the next big thing. Moped gangs, acid attacks. The Standard will love it. Fear. Contagion. Property prices will fall.’

‘Might not be a bad thing,’ I said, feeling cynical. I couldn’t listen to reminiscences about the crime-ridden, emptying city of the 1970s and 1980s without feeling half jealous.

‘It isn’t!’ Quin said, all of a sudden passionate. ‘I’ve seen amazing, innovative business driven to Berlin, promising start-ups smothered in the crib, brilliant men and women driven away! All because the rent is too damn high. You and Pierce had it! You had figured it all out independently, you knew what had to be done! I knew I was right. We had Pierce in mind at first to help us guide the program, but he was too damaged. You’re even better.’

‘Excuse me?’ I said.

‘You’re not well, I know. I thought you were a liar, a fabulist, a joke. But now I see that you’re a trailblazer. You’ve got what we need: you understand the irrelevance of objective truth. You see that experience is plastic, molten plastic.’

The scent of burning polymers filled my nose and mouth.