The time went really quickly in the end, and when Debbie announced that we only had a few minutes left I looked across to see what Lucy had come up with. She’d done exactly what she told me she’d do, even if it was a bit cartoonish. I studied the pair of saggy tits with bright red nipples as if I was some expert on Antiques Roadshow. I stroked my chin and told her the tits were ‘strikingly hideous’ and that the curly orange bush that covered most of the subject’s bottom half was ‘especially disgusting’.

She looked across at Debbie and stroked her own chin and laughed until I thought she might wet herself.

‘Right then . . .’ Debbie said.

Despite the two hours everyone had put in, they all buggered off fairly sharpish when the time was up – Lucy included – without apparently being bothered about what they’d drawn or painted or daubed and certainly not giving a toss what anyone else might think about it.

I hung around though, obviously, and helped Debbie collect all the work up, except mine which I wanted to keep back until the moment was right. Once the materials had been locked back in the cupboard, she wandered back over to me and rubbed her hands together.

‘Shall we have a look at our wee exhibition?’

Mostly it was the predictable scrawls, except for Ilias’s vagina, which was remarkably detailed and really quite disturbing. ‘Holy fuck,’ Debbie said, laughing.

She stopped at Lucy’s picture and stared.

‘I think it’s supposed to be you,’ I said.

‘Not bad.’ She laughed again and pointed at the orange bush. ‘Though I don’t usually let things get that wild downstairs.’ Then she held a hand out towards the sheet of paper I was holding. ‘Come on, let’s have a look at yours then.’

I didn’t even try pretending to be reluctant and handed it over.

I’d done much the same thing quite a few times, done it with Johnno and with Banksy. When you’ve decided it’s the right time to casually slide a photograph across an interview room table. A close-up of injuries, a victim’s battered face, blood-spattered flesh or clothing. That moment when you show the most shocking picture you can get hold of to the animal you know very well is responsible for it, because you’re looking for a reaction or, if you’re lucky, an admittance of guilt.

At the very least, you’re trying to get a read.