Or, if she was what she said she was, he’d do better to let things lie. Reflecting on it, he became ever more sure that she wasn’t. It was as if she’d wanted him to suspect – know even – that she was more than she first seemed.

She’d wanted him to spill something.

Even thinking of those times – the times leading up to when he’d been given that little card and the lifetime warning – made his guts churn and his pulse quicken.

He picked up his phone.

He didn’t expect the call to be answered so fast.

Chapter 6

6

2006

Wherever they were headed, it wasn’t Paradise.

5.30 a.m. He’d done morning prayers and lay in bed dozing. From his bedroom at the back of the house he heard a low whistle – his friend, Asif. He drew back the curtain and saw a familiar gesture of arms bidding him to the front. Asif up to some trick or other. Or in trouble, more likely. He had to go – couldn’t let him down.

He sprayed deodorant all over, threw on jeans, T-shirt and a long-sleeved black sweater, put a comb through black hair and fledgling beard, salve on cracked lips, sports socks inside black trainers. He checked his watch. He stood up to his full six feet two inches, inspected himself in the mirror, clenched his mouth to examine uneven teeth, grabbed a brush to use later, felt wallet and small change in the left trouser pocket, stuffed brush and comb into the right, puffed out his chest.

He eased the bedroom door open, flicking a glance across the landing, and silently closed it. He tiptoed around the squeaky floorboard and, at the top of the stairs, heard the familiar rhythm of his father wheezing. He inched down, lifted his black leather coat from its peg in the hallway and touched his phone and house keys. Everything present and correct for whatever Asif had in store. Ready to go.

He slotted a key into the front door lock and turned it. A squeak from the floor above; he froze. No footsteps – perhaps it was a groan from the depths of sleep. It made him hesitate – ask himself why Asif needed him at this hour. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never called this early. He’d have liked to turn round, to climb back to the warmth of his bed, to sleep and dream. He jettisoned the thought; it was a friend in need. He prised the door ajar and there was the grinning face, the arms outstretched.

‘Hey, man,’ he whispered, ‘what’s it about this time?’

‘It’s a summons,’ his friend whispered back. They crept through the open front gate onto the pavement, the night still dark, a street lamp casting misty light on a whining milk cart further down the street.