He enjoyed it, I could tell. He started smiling as I found my stride and was outright beaming by the time I reached the end. Only when I started to stand did he look anything other than gleeful. He waved me back into my seat. Patted at the air with his hand. ‘Wait,’ he grumbled. ‘Hang fire.’

He rummaged around inside his coat. I got a whiff of him. He had the smell of petrol about him. Petrol and sweat and cigarettes smoked while wearing damp clothes. Eventually he found what he was looking for. From an inside pocket he withdrew a silver cassette player. Five buttons on the side, a slide for the volume and a fragile looking rectangle of plastic and tape within. We’d been using them as recording devices for the best part of a decade but now they were available to buy on the open market. A wire dribbled out of the back, ending in a plastic halo bookended with two small, orange circles.

‘Have a listen,’ he said, sliding it across the table. ‘It’s important.’

I couldn’t see the point in objecting to the instruction. I was only just starting to feel afraid and I had the confidence of somebody who’s seen a few dangers and come out the other side. Whoever he was he was intent on making me do what he instructed and it was better to play along than to see what he would resort to if I were to object. I picked up the tape recorder and slipped the headphones on. Pressed play.

There was a crackle at first: static, like sausages burning in a pan. Then there was a burst of some unintelligible language; unintelligible words broken up by hard consonants. Finally the line cleared. I heard a familiar voice.

‘… my goodness, how on earth did you get me here? No, no, that can’t just be dumb luck. This is the Pandora line. I’m not even here, it’s just I’m the only one who got off my backside. Can I call you back? Is there a number? No, you’re still a bit, well they’d call it persona non grata on the top floor but down here we’d just say that you’re not exactly Mr Popular. Yes, I’d love to hear all about it. We never even got our farewell drink, did we? Shall we have a catch-up? I’ll do the accent for you if you promise not to make fun. OK, sure, I’ve got it, I’ll call you back …’

I stopped the recording. Didn’t let my features betray me. Of course our department was bugged. The line might not have been tapped but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a listening device under every second desk and bookshelf.

‘So you’re a Club,’ I said, quietly, making sense.