Then one of the policemen – not the tough guy with the red beard, the other one with neatly cut fair hair and glasses, wearing a white shirt and grey tie – started asking him about the others. ‘We know you have interesting conversations with your friends, Samir.’ He’d asked what conversations and the tough guy just gave him a conspiratorial smile, tapping a finger on his nose. ‘Come on, Sami,’ said the smart one, ‘you’ve even discussed targets with them. What you’d like to blow up. Who you’d like to kill.’ It was just bragging, he protested, no one was serious. ‘Maybe not you, Sami. But the others. Are you really so sure?’

And he was sure, then. Now, in the fourth night of this hell, perhaps he wasn’t so sure. A drip from the tap outside. Count one, two, three. Another drip. A howling through the trees – a wind whipping up? He imagined a crying boy being led into the woods.

The smart policeman had shooed the red beard out of the room and come to sit close beside him. He leant in and whispered in his ear. Sami would never forget the heat of his breath.

‘You could make some money, Sami.’

He recoiled. ‘What you mean, money?’

‘All you got to do is keep me posted on what your friends are talking about. What they’re planning. Where they travel.’

‘You wanna get me killed.’

‘It’ll just be between you and me. No one else will ever know. Every time you tell me something, there’s three hundred quid for you. Once a week. Thirty tenners. Fifteen twenties, if you prefer. Make you a well-off boy.’

Next day they let him go but he couldn’t shake off the suit with the grey tie. Almost every day, it seemed, he was there, lurking in invisible corners. ‘Nice to see you again, Sami.’

The door squeaked open – he must have finally fallen asleep as its noise awakened him. Curled up against a straw bale, he forced his eyes open, the searchlight still flaring, the night behind still dark. He’d no idea what time it was. He heard a rustle and saw a yellow dress floating towards him and a figure sitting down beside him. He could see little more than a silhouette and scarf, but he instantly knew – the beautiful woman from the barn.

‘It’s all right, Sami.’ As before, her voice soothed him. But back then it had been followed by the second man screaming in his ear.

‘Is the other man coming?’ he asked.

‘No. Only you and me.’

‘I wanna go home.’ He felt tears welling.

‘I know you do. But you must help us.’ She paused, seeming puzzled. ‘Do you like your friends, Sami?’

‘Yeah, ’course I do.’

‘Shayan, Farooq, Iqbal, Asif.’

‘Yeah, they’re mates.’

‘Then why do you betray them?’

‘I don’t.’ He began to cry. ‘Never. Never have.’

‘They paid you.’

‘Who paid?’