He caught the bus, took a seat right at the back and kept his face close to the window for the forty-minute journey. He was thirsty to soak up all the details of the outside world, all those ordinary people going about their daily business. But underneath in his gut was a tight band of anxiety. Even though he knew it was very unlikely, he was terrified of being identified. He got off the bus at Market Square, with almost everybody else, and went straight into the shopping centre beyond. Waterstones, Clarks, Next, House of Fraser. There were plenty of big-brand chain stores that he knew, many he did not. Things had changed a lot in three decades.

He found the library and asked for help to use the Internet. He waited his turn, and then a librarian sat with him. He’d already been shown how to use a computer mouse at the Spring Hill computer room, but the teacher there had concentrated on word processing and getting the offenders to write job applications. There was no Internet access at Spring Hill, so using a browser was completely new to him. He looked at the blank Google box and asked her: ‘So can I just type any question I have in here?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘But you can’t always trust the answer.’

Over the course of the next half-hour he managed to find his way around a bit, looking for addresses, phone numbers and so on. He got the librarian to show him how to use the printer, and took his two pages of carefully honed research with him. The information he had got was useful, but more limited than he’d hoped. He was shocked to be told that physical phone books were quite rare now, with many people not in them. He realised his task to track down his enemies might be a lot harder than he had expected.

With only half an hour left before his return bus trip, he looked for a phone box. There were hardly any. When he did see one, he found it wouldn’t accept coins. He had for weeks been screwing up the courage to ring his daughter.

Perhaps it would have to wait until he got a mobile.

He looked around until he saw a mobile phone shop. He plucked up his courage and walked in. It was a peculiar place with bright white, largely empty tables, and was full of young women. He didn’t even understand the questions they asked him about networks and payment plans. It made him dizzy, so he thought he would leave it for another time. Before he left, he asked one of the women, a blonde with ripped knees to her jeans: ‘Did you fall over, pet?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your jeans are all torn.’

She laughed. ‘I bought them like that.’

‘Didn’t you check them first!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can take them back, you know.’