Whatever happens, I have to get that knife back. I’m unsure how they could ever use it to tie me in with Brendan’s murder, but if I destroy it then the possibility disappears. Giving them the dongle is my only chance. So long as they have that knife, my life will remain an ocean of shit. As long as I have the gun to protect me, I feel safe that they won’t simply overpower me and take the dongle when we meet.

It’s time to make the phone call. I arrange to meet them in thirty minutes by the plinth where the see-saw used to be.

I put on my baby-blue hoodie sweatshirt hoping it might give me a defiant, even intimidating air at the meeting. Unfortunately, when I check in the mirror, I look like a cupcake with a face. I decide to stick with my shitty suit but wear my training shoes in the hope that they might speed up my exit if I have to do a runner. I wash my face twice then go into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I’m out of milk so just throw the brew down the sink. I go back to the bathroom and trim the hair from my ears with my electric razor. The mirror is tainted with old water splashes and mystery blobs so I breathe heavily on it and clean it as best I can with some toilet roll. My trainers feel a bit tight around the top of my feet, so I retie them using a double for added security. I run through to the kitchen to assess their comfort and open the fridge door to examine the contents.

There’s a Babybel cheese, a half-eaten tin of peaches that I had got in for Grace, a large half-tomato, a sachet of chilli sauce, a tub of margarine, a jar of peanut butter and one of the almond croissants I bought for Emily. The croissant makes me sad so I throw it in the bin and start to make a cheese, peanut butter and chilli sauce sandwich. I only have the crust left from a sliced loaf, so I lay it on the surface and carefully cut off the crust side. I get my angles wrong and end up with a wedge of bread that is paper thin at one end. When I open the Babybel, it has two blue spots of mould on it, so I abandon the sandwich and retrieve the croissant from the bin. One bite of it reveals that my mouth is too dry to achieve a successful chew and so I spit it out into the bin and go back into the bathroom. I need a movement. Sadly I have used the last of the toilet roll to clean the mirror and so have to clean myself up in the sink.