He let his eyes rest and angled in towards the fire, inviting its flames to fan his cheeks. Ben tried to ignore the cold and the dark, and any thoughts of that blind woman shambling silently towards them.

‘Why archaeology?’ he asked, sparking up any conversation to chase the phantoms away.

Chloe held up a finger that said one moment, please and nodded her head in synch with every chew. She must have taken an almighty bite just as he had spoken.

‘My mam,’ she replied, still working the food around her mouth. ‘She wasn’t an archaeologist but she loved anything that was old. When I was a kid, she used to take me to antique fairs and we’d spend hours rooting through all the trinkets and treasures. It sounds dull, I know, but she used to make up all these crazy stories about whatever we found.’

A softness swelled on Chloe’s face that Ben hadn’t noticed before. Fond memories have a habit of awakening the light, even on the darkest of nights.

‘What kind of stories?’ he asked.

‘Mad shit altogether.’ She chuckled. ‘There wasn’t a knife or pistol that didn’t belong to some pirate or cold-blooded highwayman. I loved it. And then, when it came to university, I thought maybe I could get some stories to tell her for a change. You know, to keep our tradition of bullshitting alive for another generation.’

‘Was your dad into all that stuff as well?’

‘Jesus, I couldn’t tell you. He made a runner shortly after I was born. Fuck knows where he went. Probably Australia or somewhere. It was just me and my mam.’

Ben instantly regretted touching on that topic, though Chloe didn’t seem all that bothered by it. Her dad was never there and so the man might as well have not existed.

‘So you’re going to be the next Lara Croft,’ Ben said with mock earnestness.

‘Eh?’

‘She’s probably the world’s most famous archaeologist after Indiana Jones. I just assumed you’d modelled your life on a video game.’

‘That’s a pretty bold assumption.’ She smiled. ‘I doubt Lara Croft ever had to scratch through ten feet of mud with a trowel for weeks on end. But who knows, maybe if I get this PhD the university will buy me a massive pair of fake tits so I can look the part.’

Ben choked a little, mid-swallow, on a crust of bread.

‘Don’t make them too big,’ he said. ‘I hear it’s not good for your back.’

‘As if that’s ever bothered you men before,’ she replied, tearing off some bread and throwing it at him. ‘I reckon I’m too small to be lugging around a big pair of boobs anyway. I’ll just get some booty shorts and a skimpy tank top, and stuff my bra with a few socks or something.’