‘Actually, Dom mentioned you didn’t get the chance to read the story, so as luck would have it I’ve got a printout that I can leave with you to read at your leisure.’ Pete patted the satchel slung across his body but made no move to open it. ‘Anyway, the main thing is that my editor loves you, which is the whole reason I’m here. He wants to know if you’d be interested in replying to the letters that have come in, with a bit of . . . you know, advice or guidance, or whatever you want to call it. And then the idea is that we could maybe print a few of them, along with a follow-up story.’ His eyes flicked down to his satchel and he frowned. ‘Although not all of them are entirely suitable for that.’

I have no idea what I’d thought Pete was going to come out with, but it definitely wasn’t that. I was literally lost for words, but he didn’t even notice.

‘My editor says it’s all about reader engagement these days, and this is proper, old-fashioned organic engagement, so he’s keen to strike while the iron’s hot. It’s exciting stuff, Danny!’ It seemed to me like it might have been proper, old-fashioned organic squirrel shit, but Pete’s enthusiasm was just a little bit endearing and I was very inconveniently starting to like him.

He reached into the satchel, pulled out a pile of papers in a bulldog clip and held them out to me. ‘I’ve printed off a few of the emails and there’s a couple of the other snail mail ones in there as well. There’s plenty more, but I didn’t want to show up and overwhelm you, so I thought . . . Anyway, here you go.’

The idea was ludicrous, but at the same time, as I took the letters I felt a twinge of something slightly thrilling in my gut. Because, what if – I mean, just what if – inadvertently, my subconscious had been on to something with that graffiti? What if I really had stumbled on some kind of theory of enlightenment? What if, by going beyond my six-pint critical mass, something weird and wonderful had been set in motion? Cats and kings. I flicked through the letters and jumped at the sharp electric zap as a piece of paper sliced my finger. I watched a tiny drop of blood spread across my skin and realised there was probably more likelihood of Gentleman learning how to knit me a jumper for Christmas.

‘But why, Pete? Why would anyone think I’d be able to offer any words of advice or wisdom, or whatever it is you say they’re looking for?’

I thought it was a pretty fair question and, even though I could feel myself weakening in the face of Pete’s earnestness, I wasn’t going down without a fight. He immediately looked uncomfortable and started twisting his empty mug around in his giant hands. I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard me properly and I was about to repeat myself, but then his shoulders sagged and he let out a huge sigh.