Hollis remembered standing outside the van, with Bobby demanding time for a second cigarette, the pretty Norwegian driver demanding they be quiet now and get back inside. Pep had come scooting up then, on his eerily silent bike, running without lights, to hand Hollis a tattered Waitrose bag, leer at her, then whip away. When she’d renegotiated the black canvas flies, she’d found Garreth slumped in his chair, his screens blank. "Are you okay?" she’d asked, giving his shoulders a squeeze.