The pilgrims set up camp, but Harold no longer sat with them while they cooked or planned the next day’s route. Rich had begun hunting for rabbits and birds, which he skinned or plucked and cooked over the flames. The sight of the poor animal, stripped and skewered, made Harold tremble. Besides, there was a hungry wildness in Rich’s eye these days that reminded him of both Napier and his father, and alarmed him. Rich’s pilgrim T-shirt was smeared with blood. He had taken to wearing a string of small rodent teeth round his neck. They put Harold off his food.

Tired and increasingly empty, he would stroll through the on coming night while the crickets creaked and stars pricked the sky. This was the only time he felt free, and connected. He thought of Maureen and Queenie. He remembered the past. Hours could pass and they would seem both like days and no time at all. Returning to the group, some already sleeping, some singing by the camp fire, he would feel a cold wave of panic. What was he doing with these people?

While Harold was out of the way, Rich called a private meeting. He had grave concerns, he said. They were difficult to voice, but someone had to; Queenie couldn’t hang on for much longer. In light of this, he suggested that a reconnaissance party, led by himself, should take an alternative, cross-country route. “I know this is hard for everyone because we love Harold. He’s been a father to me. But the guy is slowing down. His leg’s bad. He wanders off for half the night. And now this fasting. He’s not the man he was – ”

“He’s not fasting,” objected Kate. “You make it sound religious. He’s just not hungry.”

“Whatever he’s doing, he’s not up to the journey. You’ve gotta call a spade a spade. We need to think how we can help.”

Kate sucked something stringy and green from a back tooth. “You do talk crap,” she said.

Wilf yelped with hysterical laughter and the subject was dropped, but Rich sat very quietly for the rest of the evening, slightly apart from the group, chipping at a stick with his penknife, splintering it and sharpening it to a piercing point.

Harold was woken the following morning by shouts. Rich’s knife had gone. After a thorough search of the field, banks and hedgerows, it was clear that Wilf had gone with it. And so, he discovered, had the glittering paperweight for Queenie Hennessy.

The gorilla man reported news that Pilgrim Wilf had set up a Facebook page. It already had over a thousand likes. There were personal anecdotes about his walk, and the people he had saved. There were several prayers. He promised his fans there were more stories to come in the weekend papers.