After Nevis leaves, his heart tick-tocks like a clockwork toy that has been wound too tight, the breath pulsing and whirring. One minute he feels as though he might drown in his own air, the next that the air will all be squeezed from him. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead and his hands are shaking, his throat swollen and sore. He puts his elbows on the table to steady himself, dumps his head in his hands and takes a few deep breaths, attending to the rush of air, following it with his mind as it leads him out of the dark chaos of his firing neurones into the half-light of thoughts.

I am fucked, he thinks.

His mind goes back twenty years to the knock on the door and the voice crying, ‘Zoe, Zoe!’, to the flit from the bathroom window, the frantic run back to the flat and to his mother. He knew he was fucked then, too.

Pull yourself together and stay calm, he thinks. That was what Amanda said to him.

Easier said than done.

He takes a breath, opens the drawer of his desk and, taking out the quarter bottle of Bell’s, takes a swig. The whisky goes down like a pat on the back.

I can do this, he thinks. Stay calm and think straight.

He reaches for his phone, removes the SIM card and scopes about the room for some scissors. Not finding any, he goes through to Tina’s desk, locates a pair there and carefully stashes the cut pieces in his trouser pocket. You foolish man, he thinks, to be so easily outwitted. He has an urge to run but knows there is nowhere to run to. He is cornered. The only way to get out of this is going to be to show Nevis Smith his teeth the way he did Natasha Tillotson.

All is not lost, not yet.

He scribbles strict instructions not to be disturbed on a Post-it note and sticks it to Tina’s screen. He needs time to think straight, doesn’t want her returning from student welfare and asking questions.

Locking his office door behind him, he moves back to his desk and starts cooking up a plan. Time heaves and billows around him unregarded. He will no longer allow himself the luxury of being scattered and panicky. From now on his mind will be a laser beam.

Later, he has no idea how much later, a knock comes on the door. At first, he thinks the sound is coming from his head. Only Tina’s voice brings him to.

‘What is it?’ he says, more irritably than he’d intended.

‘There’s a phone call for you, Professor.’

She never calls me Professor, he thinks, distancing herself from me already, the coward. All my allies falling, one by one.

‘Did you not see the Post-it? No phone calls, no meetings.’

‘It’s Veronica and she won’t take no for an answer.’