He dispensed the pages without waiting for an answer, taking care not to meet either of them in the eye. The pronounced crease in Sparling’s pants was more striking than the man’s social skills. Ben took his contract with clammy fingers. Its typeface was small. Its words were many. The paper was as fat as card. Ben’s name was printed throughout the text in bold. It looked amiss, as if Benjamin French had no right in having his name inked on such a document. There was always a first time for everything. A pen was placed between them; the expensive Parker kind that always smeared under his left hand.

How much would you like? Ben couldn’t believe his luck.

‘I’ll give you a moment to read through the details,’ Sparling said, returning behind his lectern. ‘May I just say as you seem especially apprehensive, Mr French, that this project will be of great interest to you both, regarding your chosen specialisations, that is. Regardless of any financial reward that you will stand to receive, the furthering of knowledge is our ultimate goal here. You should, perhaps, see this as a springboard to new and better opportunities.’

Chloe signed without hesitation. She slid the page forward and slouched back in her seat, having not read a word of it. Ben looked to her in quiet disbelief as she handed him the pen, still sleek from her touch.

‘Come on, Mr French,’ she said with a wink. ‘What have you got to lose?’

*

Those words echoed through Ben’s head as his foot plunged into yet another pit. True of any foe underestimated, the journey had the upper hand, skilfully stabbing him whenever and wherever it pleased, entertaining the many insects keen to set up shop in his ears. Both thumbs were tucked under the rucksack’s straps to ease some of its weight off his shoulders. But it just caused the pain to travel elsewhere. His lower back seemed the most popular destination.

Chloe’s legs were a welcome distraction for now, and that’s where Ben’s eyes fell. She was forever a few steps ahead like a carrot dangling on a string. Her jeans looked as if they had been spray-painted on. He could see her calf muscles tightening.

‘What age is your kid?’ she called back, stopping for a moment to look at him.

‘Aoife’s three,’ he replied, lifting his head hastily to meet her eyes.

‘Do you see much of her?’

‘Not enough. Her mum, Jess, moved back to Donegal, so I only get to see her maybe once a month.’

‘How long were you guys together for?’ she asked.

‘One whole night.’

Chloe blocked his way like a bouncer in a nightclub, hand extended but not quite touching.

‘It was a long night.’ Ben grinned.

Her eyes narrowed on him and he regretted his glibness immediately.