I slow down as we approach the ring road at the bottom of Callington Road, then speed up again as I spot signs for the A4 to Bath. As I continue to drive – through suburban Bristol and out into the industrial estate on the Bath Road – the scenery changes. Houses and breeze-block buildings gradually fade away, replaced by rolling fields and tall trees, bushes and thick, wiry undergrowth that flanks the road on both sides. It’s darker out here, in the depths of the countryside, the only light the flash of headlights from the occasional passing car.

We continue to travel through the countryside in silence for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes before Billy turns on the radio. He turns it off again. He winds down the window and shouts, ‘Fuck you, world!’ into the darkness. He puts a hand on my knee and squeezes it. When he doesn’t get a reaction, he does the same to my boob.

‘Jake’s got a mean right hook,’ he says, then he lets go of me and presses his hand to his jaw. ‘Wanker.’ He glances at me. ‘You do realize I’m going to have to tell him about us now, don’t you?’

‘Okay.’

‘You’re bluffing.’

‘Tell him. I don’t care any more.’

‘Well, well, well.’ He reaches into his bag and pulls out a plastic lunch box. He opens it and takes out his mobile phone. ‘Just in case I drop my bag in the river when I’m tagging bridges,’ he says when he notices me watching. ‘My phone’s not insured, is it? Bollocks!’ He jabs at his mobile with his index finger. ‘Fucking battery’s dead. Ah, well –’ he drops it back into the lunch box and re-seals the lid – ‘looks like I’ll have to tell Jake when we get back. More fun if he has to look me in the eye.’

Trees loom over us as the road narrows and fields streak past, bleak stretches of grey under the dark sky. I can’t see the moon – it’s hidden behind thick clouds. There’s a light rain. It drifts through the open window onto my face and arms but I don’t wipe it away.

‘I reckon Jake’ll move out when I tell him. We could have his room. It’s bigger than mine,’ Billy says.

I say nothing.

‘What?’ He twists round in his seat. ‘Is that such a bad idea? Seriously? You seem to have forgotten what a laugh we had, but I haven’t. I know you like me, Kira. And you won’t have to feel guilty about it once Jake’s gone.’

Normally I’d laugh – at him, at how ridiculous the suggestion is – or else I’d get angry. But his words wash over me. They don’t matter any more. Nothing does.