‘What do you do? What have you seen?’

She told him. The body in the bed grew stiff and couldn’t be moved. If there was nothing suspicious about the death, that was part of her job: to break it down. She had broken limbs across her knee.

He found that his eyes were closed tighter than ever, so he opened them. He slowed his breathing down, and filled the kettle. As he waited for it to boil, he cleaned his glasses and ate two biscuits. Then he washed his face and had a cup of coffee. He felt glad then, that he was alive and in such a pretty room. He felt ashamed, too, for bringing such horror into it. He felt like opening a window, but instead he got undressed and had a shower.

‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Stop thinking.’

He started to sing, very quietly:

‘And did those feet…’

He stopped, wondering where the old hymn had come from, and how it came to be buried so deep.

‘And did those feet. In ancient times. Walk upon England’s pastures green?’

He paused, and tried the next part.

‘And did the holy. Lamb of God. On all our pleasant pastures… seem?’

They weren’t the right words, but the tune would never leave him. In the absence of a school song, ‘Jerusalem’ had been used in every end-of-term assembly, roared out by eight hundred boys, the music teacher hammering at a piano. Never had he pondered the meaning of the song’s questions and demands, but they were there in his brain and on his lips – the singer wanted a bow of burning gold for some reason, and arrows of desire. He was calling for a sword, and then not just a chariot, but a chariot of fire, knowing that the clouds had to burst open at some point so Jerusalem could rise. It would rise here, of course, right next to this hotel.

He stood, lost in thought.

He made the water colder, and that increased the power of the shower jet. He sang more loudly, repeating phrases as he sluiced himself down, and when he stepped back into the room wet, dripping and white, he was surprised at how quiet it was. Everything around him was beautifully still, and he smiled because nobody had been hurt, and no one had died. At five to nine, he went downstairs and ordered a glass of wine, for which he paid in cash. The backpacker was there, at a table on her own. She was studying a map but she looked up at him suddenly, and he knew at once that she recognised him.

He saw the surprise, and then a flash of unmistakable fear.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hi.’

It was quiet in the bar, and she knew he’d followed her. There was music, but it was soft and he found there was nothing he could say – so they simply looked at each other.

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