The truth was far more banal. Sam likened it to the lure of gang culture. He imagined Karza’s childish glee at being given a gun for the first time and a sense of importance. His lack of imagination would have stood him in good stead. That much Sam had learned from his studies. Some of the most effective gang members were the least imaginative. No risk of seeing the other side of the argument or the consequences of their deeds.

Feeling better, the tea lubricating his scratchy throat, he gave her a version of his visit to his mother, her emotional plea to him to find Karza, and the encounter with Bala, his stump and the tag. There didn’t seem any point in holding back.

‘He got back. He’s lucky.’ Her voice had a harder edge.

‘So what happened to Leanne?’

‘She’s gone.’

‘To Syria?’

Her face clouded. ‘She’s in custody. There was some confusion about the priorities of the charity. It was supposed to be about taking medical supplies to the victims of conflict. But because they started sending people over, it’s having to be wound up.’ She waved at the bags and boxes.

Sam felt the chances of finding his brother diminishing by the minute. ‘Bala thought she might know where he is.’

‘Do you want to go and find him?’ There was more than a trace of irritation in her voice.

‘Well, not exactly.’ He didn’t want to sound like a coward, but nothing would induce him to go anywhere near the place. He hadn’t even any desire to go back to Bosnia. ‘You know, work commitments,’ he added weakly, because she looked like someone who would appreciate what he meant – then flushed; it sounded like a cop-out.

But she didn’t react. He had no idea what she was thinking.

She focused on him again. ‘What are your work commitments, exactly?’

He gave her a quick rundown, leaving out the Oxford débâcle. He hoped she was impressed and wouldn’t notice that he didn’t actually have a job. But he carried on regardless, as if her blank stillness and lack of response was a vacuum he had to fill. ‘But Karza’s not had the same luck as me. I think going to Syria could have been the making of him.’

‘So you love him very much,’ she said, without looking up.

‘Well, it’s just us and Mum. They’re all I’ve got. And he is the apple of her eye.’

‘It must be terrible for her, not knowing if he’s alive or dead – or something in between.’