‘How many do you need to talk to?’ he asked.

‘As many as possible,’ he replied, his voice sapped of confidence.

‘As many as possible,’ the man imitated thoughtfully, looking at those around him. ‘You have until dark.’

‘That doesn’t give me much time.’

‘Then you had better get a move on, hadn’t you?’

Ben didn’t know where to begin. His mind was a damp match, its sulphur striking dead every time he tried to think. Even the clock was working against him.

‘Is there somewhere he can start doing his interviews?’ Chloe asked the man. ‘In someone’s house, maybe? If you’re only giving us a few hours, then you’d want to fucking organise something fast.’

Oh, God. Ben couldn’t believe this was happening. This was not how he wanted to approach this.

‘You won’t be setting foot in anyone’s house,’ the man replied, indifferent to Chloe’s shift in tone, ‘and you won’t be talking to any of the children. If you need somewhere, you can take the stable out the back.’ Here he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. ‘It’s sheltered, and I’m sure someone can find you some chairs, if needs be.’

Chloe glowered at the man as though resisting the urge to swing at him. She looked at the other villagers, huddled anxiously together and then back to Ben, her lamb lost amongst the wolves. She ignored the man with no neck and turned her attention instead to anyone else who would listen.

‘Okay,’ she said, letting that smile flood across her cheeks. ‘My friend here just wants to talk to a few of you, to listen to your stories. That doesn’t sound so bad now, does it? He won’t be any trouble. Tell them,’ she whispered, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Everyone has a story to tell and I just want to hear yours.’

A few long seconds of silence followed.

‘Would anyone like to…?’ Ben’s voice faded out.

Did anyone understand what he was saying?

A woman stepped out from the crowd.

Dark hollows showed around her eyes, further accentuating the nasal bone that dwarfed the sum of her features. Her skin was tan and dappled overall with freckles. Ben would have guessed her to be in her forties, but it was impossible to tell. She held herself as one much older, with a spine so arched that it would probably split if ever straightened.

Her gnarled toes clawed into the ground as she bowed her head with the strangest and most unexpected air of courtesy. She had, or so it seemed, understood.

‘Would it be okay if I spoke to some people?’ Ben asked her. ‘We can leave first thing in the morning.’

He figured that a little time was better than no time at all.