‘I told you, I’ll handle it. You’re not the one doing the talking, are you? You just concentrate on standing there looking surly … Not too surly, mind. Throw in some smug too. Remember, you’re the madame. There’s always a madame … think of yourself as the landlord, if it helps. The landlord of a swanky new flat that’s going to make you a killing…’

I shiver reflexively as he scratches at his groin, fiddling with the tip of a tiny camera nestled almost invisibly in his fly.

‘Christ … a camera in my actual pants. Whose idea was this again? I do hope you put the cost of buying a new one in the budget. No other news crews will touch this fella when we’re through. Hereafter it will no doubt be known as the ball-cam…’

‘Because they won’t search you down there. They wouldn’t dare. Nothing would be worse than to be seen as doing something gay, even if it’s dressed up as self-preservation. They’d shoot themselves first—’

‘I say no deal,’ Dominic interrupts suddenly, as if we’re still talking about the girl we’re going to buy. ‘There’s no other answer. That’s what we agreed. It’s business, isn’t it? That’s the only reason we’re here. We agreed the goods would be production-line new…’

‘Right,’ I say, itching at the wires taped flat across my chest. My camera’s anchored in my buttonhole because they won’t search me there either. I’m well past my sell-by date. ‘And what if she’s not white? We’re going to insist on getting a look at her, aren’t we? They won’t be able to lie about that.’

‘I know, Marie. I know. No deal. Velvet blush interiors are what we agreed.’ He plucks at the van’s seat, hand slick against the leather. That’s the giveaway, right there. As if anyone normal buys a car with velvet seats. I look away as his hand moves back to his groin.

‘I’ll never get away without it itching at some point. I suppose that’ll play OK, won’t it … given the substance of this so-called deal?’

‘Well, don’t scratch too hard, will you? The camera’s toast if you give yourself a stiffy.’

I feel a bit sick as we both laugh. I guess I’m finally getting the 4newsroom’s gallows humour right. But the joke’s over before we’ve even finished – his phone vibrates, shooting tremors through the whole seat.

‘We’re on,’ Dominic mumbles, jamming a cap on to his head with one hand, thumbing the phone with the other. ‘It’s finally happening. And once it starts, it’ll have to finish … Are you sure you’re ready? Marie?’