We stop under some trees. It’s a back road, hardly anyone uses it now, right next to the park, close to the old railway line that used to run into Birstall.

Do it. A voice in my head. No, it’s not that. It’s my own voice. Only it’s new, it’s louder, more insistent now. Do it, it’s saying. Like, swoosh! Just do it! What alternative is there, now that I’ve got this far? I have to.

The sun’s just gone down. There’s not much light here anyway, and it’s already quite dark. I hold a torch.

‘There, behind that wall.’

The wall has sunk part-way into the earth, about ten feet from the road. The whole area is neglected and overgrown, disused since Dr Beeching rode into town.

‘What is it?’ he asks as I make my way through a gap in the wall where the stones have fallen.

I’ve caught sight of myself in the mirror a couple of times over the last few days. This can’t be right, something tells me. But it must be. Why else would I have been there, under the old railway bridge with Craig? That wasn’t me. But it was me. It’s what I’ve become. I was given this to do, after all these years. And I can’t stop. Not now.

The ground is uneven, littered with loose stones. He follows reluctantly. I shine the torch at the base of the wall. We’re out of sight from the road now.

‘It’s down there. Look. All we need to know is whether you’ve ever seen it before, and if so, where.’

‘I can’t see nothin’.’

‘Get closer, but don’t touch anything.’

He follows the light from the torch, crouching slightly, then more, hunkering down and shuffling in towards the base of the wall, still unable to see what he’s supposed to be looking for. When his knees are almost at a right angle, I take the hammer from my pocket, get a decent stance, and swing it into the side of his head.

He hardly moves. He doesn’t make a sound.

I swing again, harder. The noise of the impact is dull, flat.

I’ve been driven to this. And now it’s my responsibility. No excuses. Not for anyone.

His body sways a little. I wait. Then he falls forwards, head first. His arms do not come out to break his fall. He lands on his head, his body still in a crouched position, but upended.

Then I hear the air escaping from his lungs. His body topples to one side. The dog face is gone. Eyes wide open. Nothing.

Yes, this is how it has to be. How it should have been, all this time. I was brought here to do this. And now it’s done.

Another swing at his head. Harder, deeper goes the hammer.