‘You look like you’re just a shell, mate. The lights are on, but nobody’s home.’

He shrugged. ‘I might as well not be here. I can’t do anything.’

Scott was the only person at work he would have admitted that to. He was his best – really his only – work friend. There were other colleagues who he liked and admired and enjoyed working with, but Scott was the only one with whom he felt he had a relationship outside of the office.

They had started on the same graduate training scheme, which involved about twenty newly qualified engineers being thrown into a rotational programme at the end of which some would leap into fast-track careers heading straight for the top, and others would start their more modest ascent of the corporate ladder.

Tom and Scott were in the second category, and happy to be there. The others all seemed to be – or to think they were – in the first category. The problem was there were only so many seats on the fast track, and so the corporately generated bonhomie and team spirit was exactly that – corporately generated.

Which meant totally and utterly false.

After they all fledged from the scheme they disappeared to various parts of the company, and much as he liked working with most of them, he did not feel they had his best interests at heart.

Scott was different.

As part of the programme they had gone for a weekend bonding retreat in Galway. On the Friday they arrived everyone had drunk masses of Guinness and Beamish and Murphy’s and Baileys and whatever else was put in front of them. When they were all about ready to pass out, a message went around that they were to assemble in the hotel ballroom at 1 a.m.

They arrived to find three managers, plus May, the woman who ran the graduate training programme.

There’ll be a treasure hunt tomorrow, May said. 7 a.m. sharp, in this room.

Someone ventured the question of what she meant by ‘treasure hunt’.

You’ll have a map, a list of addresses, and a list of questions. You have to go to the addresses and answer the questions. So, one might be ‘A famous person lived here. Who was it?’ You go there, read the blue plaque, answer the question.

Jesus wept, Scott said. We’re a team. OK?

May looked around the room.

It’s just for fun, she said. But there will be prizes.

Prizes, it turned out, was the magic word for this group. Tom and Scott arrived at 6.59 a.m. in the ballroom – which, given the magnitude of his hangover, Tom thought was pretty respectable – but they were the last to get there, and by a lot.

They were also the only pair dressed in jeans and sweaters. The rest were in their running gear.

Well hello, Scott said. It’s like a pre-marathon race meeting.