Then they heard, for the first time, the sound of the jets rising from the runway of Glasgow airport, roaring overhead above them, life going on as a life here drew inexorably to its end. Tony ducked absurdly at the sound, looking up to see the plane, but he saw only the canopy of clouds.

After a while, the path veered a little to the right. It was darker now, the gloom thickened sufficiently among the trees for Duggan to switch on his torch, the circle of light bouncing between the tree trunks ahead, their upper branches lost in the ever-decreasing gradations of light. Occasionally, the lamp beam would catch a creature’s eyes, shining blue-green, watching impassively their progress through the woods.

They moved in silence, save for the ragged breathing of Kelly and a low keening moan that he made every so often, a futile protest against his fate.

They crossed a small stream, only three or four feet across, using as a bridge the freshly fallen trunk of a tree, its body entwined with ivy. The watercourse lay at the bottom of an incline, which they had to jog down. Here, Kelly lost control and stumbled and fell into the water. Tony dropped his shovel and, falling to his knees, heaved him out of the water. Only when he had so done did he realize the absurdity of saving the man from drowning, like a doctor treating a condemned patient.

They walked a further twenty minutes or so, veering always to the right, making their way into the depths of the woodland. Their progress slowed as they went, the twilight darkening to night, the torch limiting the scope of their movement to all that was encompassed within the narrow beam.

Finally, they broke into a small clearing, an ancient oak at its entrance, a row of spruce at the other side, perhaps eight feet away.

‘This’ll do,’ Duggan said.

Kelly slumped on to the ground, his body wracked with fresh sobbing.

‘Should we give him a drink or something?’ Karen asked.

‘He doesn’t deserve it.’

Kelly started to shudder of a sudden, his body seized by spasms, as if the shock of all that had happened to him and all that would had finally registered with him. The noise he made now became more guttural, as someone struggling to catch their breath.

‘He can’t breathe,’ Karen said. ‘Let him breathe.’

She ran across to him, dropping the petrol can and pulled the tape from his mouth, removing the rag it had held in place to silence him. He sucked in air greedily, gulping it down.

‘Please, Karen,’ he said. ‘Please, let me go. It wasn’t me.’

‘I can’t… I don’t know…’ She looked to Duggan who shrugged.

‘He was better gagged,’ he said. ‘You,’ to Tony, ‘start digging.’