‘Well, you know, I’m chuffed, of course I am.’ He’d puffed out his chest to prove it. ‘I only had an elementary education myself.’

‘A good enough education, in its way,’ John said, thinking of Arthur. Norman had done well too. His size gave him one entry point into the police force, a service record the other. Graft and intelligence had had him promoted to detective, then Special Branch. He had the edge on John in years and experience, but John sensed an old class deference lurked close to the surface, an awe of John.

‘You being a university graduate,’ he’d said when he first made contact. ‘From Oxford, no less.’

Norman returned with two pints of bitter, placed them on the table and squeezed himself back into the seat. Too long catching criminals or tracing subversives made Norman furtive and self-effacing. Like the rat in Stamford Street, squeezing his body beneath a door frame or through the grille of a drain. The man outside approached their table, nodded at Norman and John, sat himself down and reached forward for the beer. Fred. His name was Fred. The lookout, giving the all-clear. John knew they weren’t their real names, any more than his was Birdcage.

‘Cheers,’ John said, raising his glass.

‘So what do you have for us?’

‘Not much more to report,’ John said, pulling out his notebook and tearing off the pages of notes. He slipped them over the table to Norman. ‘The activities remain the same. The activists too. You have the names already.’

‘No incitement to break the law?’

‘Minor inconveniences,’ John said. ‘Trespass, blocking the highway. Look, Norman…’ John leaned forward. ‘These people are pacifists. They’re not throwing Molotov cocktails or fermenting a violent overthrow of the state. It’s peaceful protest they do. Civil disobedience.’ He paused.

‘We’ll be the judge of that,’ Norman said. ‘Any new names? What about that young woman?’

John crossed his legs, loosened his tie. ‘It all just got a whole lot more complicated,’ he said, adding, ‘I never wanted to do this, and I want out. Now.’ He stood up, felt someone tug at his sleeve. Fred tilted his head towards the seat. Sit down.

‘I know you have a soft spot for her,’ Norman went on. ‘And I can see why. She’s a lovely-looking girl. But you need to keep your distance, is my advice. Don’t want lovey-dovey stuff to get in your way.’

Too late for that, John thought. I loved her before you came on the scene.