Pete coughed into his mug and I didn’t know if it was a reaction to my recap of events or the shock of the black, sugarless tea. Through the open door of the shed I could see across to the downstairs bedroom window, where the curtains were drawn except for the tiniest sliver.

‘No, no, nobody cares about any of that. In fact, like I was saying to your . . . to Dom, most people seemed to think the whole “up the Establishment” vibe was quite funny.’

No wonder Dom had been looking amused. I imagined Ray would be less so, though, if he knew. I wondered if I should send a paper plane over the fence with the news. Dear Ray, most people thought I was quite funny, love Danny M.

Most people?

‘Pete, when you say most people—’

‘What I mean is that it was your . . . your . . .’ He clicked his fingers at himself, looking for a word. ‘Message, that people seem to be relating to.’

My what?

‘My what?’

‘Your message. Your philosophy, your ethos, your, um, credo, dude.’ Pete was obviously having difficultly locating the appropriate vernacular of my generation, so he was trying them all and I appreciated the effort. ‘You know, Danny, the whole cat and king thing. Equal rights for battlers, oppression from the ruling classes, reach for the stars, all that jazz.’

He waved his hands in the air like he was describing a good pasta sauce, and tea sloshed dangerously. ‘That kind of stuff is really on point right now, and what it looks like to us is that because of the message and how it . . . how you came across in the story, people felt – well, they feel like they can trust you. Ask you things.’ He drained his mug then immediately looked back into it hopefully. ‘Or, you know, something like that.’ Trust me? Ask me things? I was starting to worry where all this was leading.

When Wolfie had shown me that newspaper, I’d been so shocked at seeing the photo I hadn’t even noticed there was an accompanying story. The next day Dom had mentioned something about it being the best fiction he’d read in a long time, but the paper seemed to have disappeared with Wolfie so that was that. I was just glad people were now eating their fish and chips and cleaning their windows with that reference to me being forty-two. And, by the way, about that, Pete.

‘By the way, Pete—’ But Pete was on a mission.

‘The thing is, we’ve had loads of emails come in about the story and there’s even been a bit of the old-school stuff. You know, like, letters. Snail mail. From old people, I guess.’ Pete’s eyes darted around the shed like Formula Ones, and was I imagining he suddenly didn’t seem to want to look me in the eye?

‘My editor couldn’t believe it. He reckons last time he saw actual old-style letters from people was when he was working as a sub at the Daily Mail and Gazza won BBC Sports Personality of the Year. But anyhow, your story clearly appealed to a wide range of, um . . .’ Pete looked up to the rafters to find his word. He snapped his fingers. ‘Denographics, that’s it.’ That’s definitely not it, Pete.