Jamie sipped his coffee. It tasted as good as it smelled. ‘It was something to do with your WEP key. That was all. Dead easy to sort out. But you’re ready to go online now.’

‘Thank you so much.’

Jamie left him to it. He went back down the stairs carrying his copy of Brian’s book. Lennon had gone, either into Mary’s flat or back out the window. At the bottom of the stairs, Chris was working on the door, planing its edges. Jamie waved at him then went back into his own flat. The thank you card was still lying on the carpet. He carried it in to Kirsty, who was where he had left her, lying on the sofa. She had managed to put the TV on and was watching a makeover show.

‘How are you feeling?’

She coughed and said, ‘Not too good. It’s come on really quickly. I felt fine when I got up. Why were you so long?’

‘I had to help him get on the internet. Look, he gave me a book.’

‘Oh. For readers aged ten to fourteen. Your kind of book.’

‘And we got a card from Lucy and Chris.’

‘What for?’

‘It’s to say thanks for last night, apparently.’

She took the card from Jamie and opened it. ‘Oh God, there are rats on it.’ She closed her eyes and thrust it back at Jamie.

‘They’re mice, Kirsty. You must be ill. Look, they’re cute little mice. Squeak squeak.’

She grimaced. ‘Take it away.’

‘Shush. Chris is just out there. He’ll hear you. And you’re certainly not well enough to go into town. In fact, you ought to be in bed.’

After he had led Kirsty into the bedroom and watched her curl up beneath the quilt, Jamie went back into the living room. He picked up the card and read the message inside. It simply said To Jamie and Kirsty. Thanks. From Lucy and Chris.

He put the card on the mantelpiece. The funny thing was, Kirsty was right: the creatures on the front did look a bit like rats.

The next morning, Kirsty’s condition had worsened. She had lain awake half the night, coughing and keeping Jamie awake as well, and now she had a sore throat and a headache, and she said her bones felt like lead-lined pipes and her skin was sore. ‘I need drugs,’ she said. ‘Paracetamol, Lemsip, Anadin, cough mixture, Tunes…’

‘Then I’d better go down the shop.’

He got dressed and opened the front door.

‘I don’t believe it.’

From the bedroom, Kirsty called hoarsely, ‘What is it?’