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The cancer treatment had been brutal. Zeph volunteered to be part of a clinical trial.

It still meant eighteen weeks of chemotherapy: six cycles over three days every three weeks.

Chemo targeted fast-growing cancer cells but also healthy cells that divided rapidly too, like those in the skin, mouth, intestines and hair, so throwing up, losing his hair and his throat being constantly sore were a few of the crap things that came with poisoning his body.

Surgery was scheduled over the Easter break to remove the tumour and affected tissue.

It had been leg-saving surgery, not amputation, much to his relief.

Now he had a lot of metal inside him instead of bone.

At least there’d been no need for a new knee.

Nor any further surgery, which was the best news for ages.

Once the chemo stopped, his hair had grown back.

Then followed a short period of radiotherapy, and the support of a team of torture specialists, otherwise known as physical therapists, who didn’t listen to no, I don’t feel like it today .

And among all that, somehow, he managed to study and keep a check on things related to Jack. No crimes had been reported in Middleton. Nothing in the news about guns being fired. The Middleton house had been sold. Whatever happened there had been buried.

His imagination had run riot. Jack and Thomas were in witness protection but Thomas had been a crook.

Maybe a money launderer, which explained a lot.

Jack had been trawled up into Thomas’s world and didn’t have a way out.

They couldn’t rely on the police for protection so they looked after themselves. Or…he was wrong about all of it?

Zeph told Martin and Paulo about the cancer when they came back after Christmas.

By then, Zeph had started his treatment so they came to him, took him to a hotel for two days and had their late Christmas.

Zeph wondered if Jack had opened the presents he’d bought.

Maybe he’d never know. He put on a brave face for Martin and Paulo but inside he was falling apart.

There had been no option about telling the university. Losing his hair would have told them anyway. He’d talked to his supervisors who were supportive whether Zeph wanted to complete or repeat the year. Complete was his aim.

He told Adam Penshurst who said they still wanted him at GCHQ. He even came to see Zeph in hospital after his surgery, which was nice of him.

He told his fellow students and they turned out to be better friends than Zeph had imagined, which made him regret not trying harder. They took him to appointments, visited him, brought him food.

Jack didn’t come.

Zeph still hoped.

Because he was an idiot.