I wished he would say something now, though. Anything.

‘Do you know he’s dead?’ he said eventually.

I shook my head. ‘He’s in a coma.’ I saw the plump bottom lip in the photo again, the sleepy slump of his head.

‘Then’ – he eyed his cup – ‘he’s not dead.’ Spoken as if it was the final word.

Not dead yet. I told him about the wallet, about not really knowing his name. ‘Do you think I should call the police?’

Another painfully long pause. ‘No.’ He took a slow breath in. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

I wished I knew what his look meant. It wasn’t blame, or disgust, or – it wasn’t anything I understood.

I let out a shuddering breath. I felt like I’d been probed with a knife. ‘Anyway,’ I said, getting up, holding the pipe. What more was there to say? ‘Um. Nice cactus.’

The one I had bought him sat with his others at the far end of the table, part of the little spiketastic family. Looking at it now, it seemed alarmingly phallic. God.

He turned his head towards the table and stared at it for ages. Then he tipped his cup up, finished it, and nodded at my hand. ‘Gonna give that a whirl, then?’

We sat at the edge of the river.

‘Eat shit, midgefuckers,’ I said, pipe in teeth.

Jim breathed a laugh and flicked one off his eyelash. He hadn’t said another word yet. Maybe he didn’t want to speak to me again. Was just waiting this one out, waiting for me to get the hell away from him so that he could phone the Met and grass me up.

I looked at the cushioned cleft of the hills, the clouds pushing themselves between them. The giraffe-patches of heather. ‘Where were you before this?’ I still felt really fucking shaky. Needed to talk about anything else.

‘Not far away.’

Wow. A whole life spent up here. Though he wasn’t exactly brimming over with joy about it. ‘What do you like best?’

‘Best?’

I took the pipe out, feeling like a Victorian gentleman. ‘What’s the best thing about being here?’

A line deepened in his forehead. ‘I’ll show you if you like.’ There was the edge of a challenge in his voice again, like with the lobster, and the hare. The Lobster and the Hare. Sounded like a really posh country gastropub.

‘Yeah. OK.’

‘Not now. Stuff to do. Tomorrow.’ He stood up and wiped his hands against each other. ‘It’ll—’ He stopped and I squinted up at him. ‘It’ll be all right.’ His eyes were solid, full of earth.

I moved my hair out of my face and nodded. I wanted to believe him more than anything.

Jim glanced about as if he weren’t sure which direction to walk in. ‘And you’ll get there.’ He looked at me again and his voice was as soft as the water up here. ‘You’ll get to all those places.’

‘Yeah. Maybe.’ I wondered why he hadn’t.