‘Where we going?’ asked Sami, failing to hide his fear.

‘It’s OK. Just you and me.’

He headed down the A666 from Ewood towards Darwen, left at the junction with the M65 but, rather than joining it, peeled off to the motorway services, parking amid a crowd of cars. ‘This’ll do, protection in numbers.’ He swivelled. ‘For you too, young man.’ Sami saw a meanness in his face and the greased flat strands of dark hair, greying at the edges. He tried to make out the accent – it was unfamiliar, some sort of strong Irish maybe.

The man plugged the machine into a socket by the radio/CD player, thumbed a couple of markers and within seconds they were hearing a good quality recording of Sami’s conversation with Sara. ‘You can’t get one of these commercially,’ said the man. ‘A fool couldn’t fuck it up. Not that you are, are you, young man?’

For the next hour and a quarter they listened. Sami didn’t see why the man needed to make him share the ordeal – couldn’t he have done it alone through earphones? He hadn’t dared suggest it.

At the click of the front door and echo of Sara’s parting footfalls, the man cut the playback. ‘You did well. Enjoy it?’

Sami, heart beating, stomach churning, could only murmur. ‘I done my best.’

‘You said it nicely about Asif.’

Sami didn’t know how to respond. ‘Thanks,’ he tried.

‘And you skated OK over the bit we can never tell.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Never ever.’

‘Nah.’

The man took a wallet from his chest pocket. The movement gave Sami a moment of confidence. ‘So what’s it all about then?’

The man stared at him grimly as he extracted a bunch of notes. ‘Not for you, young man. Not for you. You never fucking speak about this.’

Sami looked at the cash. Fifties, at least ten, maybe twenty – more than he’d hoped for. ‘OK, yeah.’

‘But you did well,’ the man repeated. ‘We could meet again if something else comes up.’

The cash was still in the man’s hand. ‘Dunno.’ The hand didn’t move. ‘Maybe. Yeah. Could do.’

The hand moved and Sami took the cash. ‘See you then,’ said the man. ‘Now, young man, you can fuck off.’

Sami frowned. ‘You mean here.’

‘It’s your patch, isn’t it? Use your feet.’

‘Yeah. OK.’

‘Now.’

Sami jumped out of the car and walked towards the car park exit as fast as he could. He still didn’t understand why he’d been told to give the girl that story about Asif working down in Birmingham. Or to leave out that bit of the last night with the Adviser – the only bit that really mattered. Though he did wonder if he’d ever have been able to tell it to Sara – or anyone else – exactly the way it had happened.

2006