Eventually she nodded. ‘I’ll call you an Uber. You’ll need to tell me where you’re headed.’ She checked his expression. ‘Which I won’t repeat to anyone.’

McNab smiled a thank you.

He’d had a small hope that Mark might have returned to his flat since they’d last met, but that didn’t turn out to be true. It didn’t stop him getting in, of course, and when he did, McNab found the place exactly as he’d left it.

His main reason for going there was to get a change of clothing. And hopefully to get some cash or a card he might use in the interim. The clothes were easy. Mark was taller than him, but not a lot, and in build they were similar.

McNab selected an outfit, then disposed of his own stained clothing. After which he headed for the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of whisky before entering the kitchen to look for something to eat.

He was rewarded in his search with a large pepperoni pizza he found in the freezer, which he popped in the microwave as per the instructions. After that, he took a seat in the living room to sip his whisky and await the ping telling him his first meal – for how long? – was ready.

The pizza, he decided, almost tasted better than the whisky, but not by much. In fact, the combination was pretty perfect. Having assuaged both types of hunger, he now noted that whatever pain relief he’d been dosed up with in the hospital was wearing off.

A search in the bathroom cabinet produced some paracetamol, two of which he swallowed along with another whisky. A quick glance at his face in the mirror was a stark reminder of what had happened to him since last he’d been here.

Sinking on to the couch, he accepted he now felt sufficiently human to make a decision about staying in London to find out more or trying to get back to Glasgow. Neither would be easy without access to cash.

But if he could make contact with Mark . . .

Rising again, he went in search of the house phone and located it in Mark’s study. A call to Directory Enquiries got him a helpful operator who was happy to give him the number for the Afghan cafe or, alternatively, to put him straight through without the need to dial.

McNab chose the latter, listening to it ring out unanswered before registering just how late it must be. Of course, the cafe would be shut by now, with Mark no doubt asleep in his own little room.

Resigning himself to waiting until tomorrow, he decided he would turn up at the cafe in person.