He was some sort of survivalist, giving himself a backup in case God didn’t scoop him out. ‘You must repent all of your sins,’ he was saying, taking a step forward, moving back again. ‘Give up all of your worldly goods.’

‘I don’t really go in for all of that, mate.’

His look was acidic. There was the smell of piss in there with the drink. ‘Only those who truly believe will be lifted up to join him.’ He nodded faintly upwards. ‘Even the dead will rise up.’

I’ve got no chance, then, Matty thought, and flicked the cigarette stub into a puddle. ‘Gotcha.’

‘No, no, no, just listen.’ He held a hand up, filthy nails in fingerless gloves. ‘Listen to me, lad. You’ve got to put your house in order, before it all turns to hellfire. And –’ he leant up, ready to impart his last bit of profound, age-long wisdom. ‘Make sure you get a tin-opener.’

Matty had stopped going to church aged fourteen – there’d been no avoiding God during the two years in Italy. But back in London, it felt easier. Wood Green was more mixed than Golders Green – Jamaicans, Brazilians, Somalis, Bangladeshis. There were more Muslims, a few Hindus, way fewer Orthodox Jews.

‘I’m not going,’ Matty had said one morning from under the duvet.

Rosa had shut the bedroom door over-loudly and leant her back on it. She’d come back with a man the night before, hustled him out first thing. As if Matty hadn’t heard the muffled groans coming down the corridor during the night. ‘Why not?’

‘Don’t believe in God.’

‘What is this? Since when did you not believe in God?’

‘Since Dad.’

It stopped her saying anything, for a while. That seemed to be the trick, to mention Joe. As good as a wheel clamp on her jaw. Rosa left Matty to lie in on Sunday mornings and would stay out most of the afternoon with friends she’d made at the new church. It had been a long time since the lavish Sunday roasts.

God had turned into a wide, silent nothing. A space where something had once been. Water filled it, mostly.

***

Keep on. Keep at it. Faith. Things Unseen.

Matty lay in the pub room’s slightly damp bed, trying to work up the energy to go and get the hot-water bottles from Shifty. Might as well have slept in the van after all. It was freezing in here.

Oh, this is a bloody classic.

A Bridge Too Far was on the room’s TV, though it was far away in the corner, hard to see from under the covers.