‘Now I know you’re just being polite.’

‘Been here long?’

‘A couple of years.’

‘And before that?’

‘I managed a farm for the National Trust. In Kent.’

Becky nodded. There was a momentary lapse in the conversation as she mentally tried to finesse her approach.

‘As flattering as it is to be cross-examined like this –’ Justin smiled and waved a hand towards the window – ‘I do have work to get on with. Perhaps we could get to the point?’

Becky straightened up. The point it would be. ‘I wanted to ask you about your farm – specifically the crop-growing process.’

‘What about it?’

‘I know all farms – most farms – spray their crops regularly. I’m interested in finding out more about this – what you use and when.’

‘Why would that be of interest to you?’

‘Are you aware of links between illnesses and the chemicals used to spray crops?’

‘Hypothetical.’

‘Maybe. Not everyone says so, though.’

‘Nothing’s been proven.’

Becky smiled. ‘Not yet. Could you tell me what you use on this farm?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Could you tell me how often you spray?’

He didn’t answer her this time.

‘Are you aware of several cases of cancer in residents in the houses surrounding your farm’s land?’

He paused. ‘What’s your point?’

‘Ever think there might be a connection?’

He took the coffee out of her hands, which was a shame as it had finally reached a pleasantly warm temperature.

‘Are you throwing me out?’ said Becky.

‘Only if you refuse to leave.’

‘Those families – they’d love to know what was actually in those bottles of pesticides. What chemicals were going on their gardens, their pets, their children.’

‘It’s time for you to go.’ Justin opened the back door and the wind gusted into the room, freezing it further.

‘Whose products do you use? Which manufacturer?’

‘Out.’

He came over to her and put a firm hand between her shoulder blades. Pushed her towards the back door.

‘OK, OK!’ said Becky, hands up in surrender. ‘I’m going.’ Her bike was leaning against the wall and she put on her helmet and straddled the seat. She looked back at him. ‘It’s gonna catch up with you all, you know. At some point, this is all going to come out in the open.’

He gave a wry smile, and she cycled away, wincing against the cold. The track was frozen solid, and her bike weaved and bumped across the ruts of mud. She knew he was watching her. A glance back confirmed this. So, no rooting around then. As she went through the yard, she saw the pesticide store – marked by the obligatory ‘hazardous’ warnings on the outside. If only she could go over, but he’d be on her in seconds.

She still cycled surreptitiously closer, looking longingly at the grey steel box, wishing she knew what was inside. And then she noticed something. One of the stickers on the container’s exterior had a small corporate logo at the bottom. Senerix. This, Becky knew, was an agrochemical company, who made numerous products for farm-crop management. It was a small victory, but nonetheless, joyous. She turned and pedalled for the track that led to the road.