‘Yes. We just had some – we had some sausages later … none of us could sleep.’

‘I see. So you – you texted each other?’

‘No! We were just – we had a bit of alcohol and then decided to cook.’

‘I see. So not trying to sleep, then.’

‘Oh, do you know what?’ Joe says. He pushes the table away from him and towards Matteo, then stops himself, stops himself from telling this lawyer to go fuck himself.

Matt cocks his head to the side. ‘What?’

‘We weren’t tired,’ Joe says, backtracking, trying to recover it. God, he is a bad liar.

‘So nobody else came to your barbecue, didn’t see anything unusual?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘What time did it go on until?’

‘Early hours.’

‘One? Two?’

‘Something like that. I had a lot of beer,’ Joe says, letting out a fixed smile.

Matt waits, quite what for Joe isn’t sure, then scrapes his chair back, tosses the pen on to the table like he is disappointed and reaches to shake Joe’s hand in his huge one. ‘Again,’ he says, ‘if you think of anything you might’ve missed. If you hear anything about Will. You will let us know?’

‘I will,’ Joe says. ‘Are we done now?’ He places his fingertips on the edge of the table, ready to go. He is sure he sees Matt’s eyes flick to his brittle, dirty nails, just momentarily, but it could have been a blink. It could have been anything.

‘Yes, done,’ Matt says. As he rises, Joe sees that he’s thick-set. A face like a Roman bust, so perfect in its proportions, but a wide stomach that swells as he stands. Matt catches him looking and avoids his gaze for a second.

He asks for Joe’s number, and he gives it.

As he has his hand on the panel of the door which in the UK would say PUSH but here says SPINGERE, Matt speaks again. ‘Where did you hire the car from, again?’

Joe’s body stills. That again is a lie. Falsely casual. ‘Holiday Rent Now,’ he says, not looking back at Matt, not trusting himself to.

‘No problems,’ Matt says.

Joe leaves. Outside, he looks up into the sky. There are two clouds floating next to each other. They’re round, like somebody has blown smoke rings into the sky. His mind is spinning, spinning, spinning. As he walks off, free, to buy a packet of cigarettes – finally – he still feels like he’s in there. Still captive and claustrophobic. Still under watch.

23.

Cathy

Cathy has been sitting on the second-to-bottom step where Joe left her, thinking about the millions of paths they could and should have taken last night. They could have collectively blamed it on another, unidentifiable car. Said William was drunk, and weaving in the road. Maybe the police wouldn’t have remembered what had happened with Frannie at the market. Maybe they were too hasty, led by Joe’s cynicism and Frannie’s fear. And now it’s too late, it’s too late, it’s too late.