‘What the hell is that?’ I ask Gibbs. It’s such an unexpected sight that I don’t connect its presence in the room with mine.

‘We don’t have footstools here,’ he says. ‘I found an old suitcase in a cupboard – it should do the job. It’s the right height and you can put your feet on it.’

‘Which means this is the armchair I asked for? Next to the, er, footstool substitute?’

‘Yes. I’d have thought that was obvious.’

‘It has no arms. Its guts are falling out.’

‘It’ll do.’

I smile at him, provoked by his unwillingness to do anything but glare coldly. ‘You accused me of wanting everyone to fail. I reckon that entitles me to a reciprocal accusation. You get a kick out of depriving people of things you know they want. Don’t you? I must be your dream come true – someone with a long wish list! So many things you can enjoy denying me. Why do I get the sense that forcing me to sit in a chair that’s leaking its stuffing in a room with no tea and a locked window is the most fun you’ve had in years?’

He looks bored by my analysis of him. ‘The thing is, everyone wants in on Billy,’ he says.

‘Pardon?’

‘No one knows who he is, but that doesn’t make him any less famous. Everyone wants a piece of the action, including has-been comedians trying to revive their flagging careers. You’re here trawling for material, not to help us. You’ve as good as said so already.’

‘No, that’s not what I—’

‘If you had anything real to offer, I’d have heard it by now.’

I perch on the edge of the suitcase, open my bag and pull out the white book I stole from Ward 10’s noticeboard. ‘I offer you this real thing,’ I say, handing it to Gibbs.

He inspects it, then stares at me with barely concealed fury. ‘Where did you find this?’

I tell him.

‘You knew its significance, yet you touched it? You moved it? Why didn’t you call us straight away?’ He pulls a clear plastic bag out of his pocket, drops the book inside it and puts it down on the table, at the outer edge. I almost make a joke about Monster Munch contamination, but I manage to restrain myself.

‘Don’t split hairs,’ I tell him. ‘I saw it and realised it was important, so I brought it straight in.’

‘Is there anyone who can verify you’re telling the truth about finding this book pinned to the noticeboard of the RGI’s cancer ward?’

‘Yes. A nurse called Fiona. I asked her if I could take it. She said no, so I distracted her and ran off with it.’

‘Maybe you pinned it up on the board yourself first,’ says Gibbs.

‘Why would I … oh, you mean maybe I’m Billy Dead Mates? No, I’m not. But I’d love to know how it came to be pinned up on that noticeboard, which is partly why I’m here. I haven’t got the authority to ask and make people tell me, but you have.’