Two days ago, and the knowledge that I could not make a single mistake was energizing, terrifying. I’d never felt anything like it. In fact, I’m not sure I was feeling anything at all. Someone was saying: this isn’t about you, it’s just what you’ve got to do. But now it’s different. As I drive, I can feel things falling within my reach. Under my control. I’m in charge.

Broadyards Country Park is just outside the town itself. It has a large car park at the bottom, surrounded by trees. I remember seeing a burnt-out car here once. That’s what made me think of it.

It’s deserted when I arrive. I park up in the far corner, close to a line of trees on the perimeter. There are no cameras here. There’s nothing much at all, really, just a place for cars at the bottom of a wooded area that people use for walking their dogs. I get the bike out, keeping my head down as much as I can, just in case I’ve missed a camera. It’s almost too dark to see what I’m doing, though, so it’s certainly too dark to be seen.

I get the petrol and give the silent passenger a good soaking. I try not to get any on my clothes, but in the end I’m just waving the can about, my body shaking so much that petrol is going everywhere. By the time the can slips from my hand every inch of the car’s interior is drenched, front and back.

I open the window in the passenger door for ventilation, then close the door as quietly as I can. My hands are trembling so badly that they knock against the door, as if I’m beating a drum. Then I turn and make sure there’s an easy way through the trees and out onto the road, which is practically unlit. It runs up towards the centre of town. I’m going to have to risk it on the main road at some point, but I have a dark brown beanie hat on and I can ditch my cycling gear as soon as I’m done.

Plus, the bike looks completely different. I’ve covered all the distinctive paintwork with black insulating tape, and there are now yellow bands on all three shafts of the frame.

It takes a few matches before I get one to strike properly. I drop it through the window and throw the box in after it. Then I’m away. I hear a faint whoosh as I scurry through the trees with the bike, a snap of flames as I go over the wall.