‘Nice, but I still don’t know why you didn’t just buy a normal car.’

‘I’m not normal.’

This seems to satisfy him, like he’d known that all along but just needed to hear it from me.

Once Liu’s gone I stash next month’s rent in an old paint tin in a pile of old paint tins and fish out a can of Red Bull. I keep a few here for when I’m working on the car, but notice I’m down to my last three. I crack one open and get back to work.

I’m done in twenty, with only a minor bruise to the back of my hand. I stand and look at the engine before taking out the keys, opening the driver’s door, and inserting them in the ignition. If this thing blows I don’t want to be inside it. I take a breath – this is months of work – and turn the key.

The engine makes a series of choking noises before dying off.

Fuck. At least it didn’t explode, though. I go back to the engine cavity and it takes me another ten minutes to see what I’d missed: two 8-mm bolts that hold the induction tube on to the throttle body weren’t properly tightened, allowing air to escape. I fix it and try again.

This time it comes to life with a meaty roar. I can hardly believe it. I’ve done it. I get in and gun the motor. Oh. Yeah.

I take it easy at first, but once I hit the A10 northbound I squeeze down the pedal and she responds beautifully. I’m pretty sure I hit warp speed before I realize that my exit’s flying towards me. I slow down and take the ramp on to the A5, curling back round the city in an elegant arc. This is the long way, and thirty minutes later I’m pulling up outside the houseboat completely exhilarated. I park, get out and take a moment to admire my work. Who’d’ve thought?

As I step onto the gangplank the Westerkerk bells start ringing ten. On deck I notice Jansen’s package hidden poorly behind the flowerpots, which I keep meaning to plant up but never seem to get round to. I pull it out to see whoever addressed it to me misspelt my name.