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He pointed at a hooded figure walking quickly up the street. The man glanced around furtively as he got close, and then opened the back passenger door and slid inside .

“Am I in the right place? Elsie sent me,” he said anxiously.

“You are. I’m Peter, and this is Joe. What’s your name?” Peter asked cheerily. He was much better at putting people at their ease, so he always did the “first contact” bit.

“Ben,” the man said, although Josiah had already figured that out simply by how scared he looked.

“Uh, Smith – Ben Smith,” their new escapee added.

He had several days’ growth of beard on his face, just visible above the scarf wrapped around his neck and lower jaw, and his hoodie was at least three sizes too big for him – probably stolen.

He leaned into the corner of the car in the seat directly behind Josiah’s, making himself as small as possible, his hands sunk deep into his pockets.

“We’re waiting for two more – Lars and Matthew – and then we’ll set off, Ben,” Peter explained. “We’ll be taking you to a safe house overnight, and then we’ll get you to the coast and out of the country. By this time tomorrow you’ll be in France – and free.”

“Thanks,” Ben muttered. He put his head down and pressed himself even more tightly into the corner. Like Peter had said – petrified.

Josiah cleared his throat and turned in his seat, trying to think of something to put the terrified man at ease.

“We’ve got a change of clothes for you at the safe house,” was all he could think of – practical and pertinent. “Something clean and dry. Good food waiting there, too.”

Ben gave a furtive nod and then disappeared back into his hoodie, like a turtle.

Josiah sighed and gave up.

A few seconds later, a giant loomed into view.

Josiah was a big man, but their next escapee had a good three inches on him; huge and gangling, he had brown hair and a straggly ginger beard.

He jogged the last few paces to the car, opened the door, and hunching, peered in.

Unlike Ben, he didn’t immediately get in as Elsie had instructed.

“Who are you?” the giant demanded. “If you’re from an IA, then I warn you, I’m armed.” He stuck his fingers into his jacket pocket in such a poor impression of a gun that Josiah almost laughed.

“You must be Lars,” Peter said gently. “It’s okay – you’re safe. We’re not an investigation agency – Elsie sent us to help you escape. I’m Peter, and this is my husband, Josiah.” He jerked his thumb in Josiah’s direction.

Lars stood there for a moment, hopping from one foot to the other uncertainly.

“It’s okay, Lars. You’re safe. We’re here to help,” Peter said softly. “Aren’t we, Joe?”

“Yeah – get in, Lars. This is Ben – he just arrived. We’re just waiting for one more person – someone called Matthew – and then we can set off,” Josiah said, wishing he had Peter’s knack for sounding soothing instead of brisk.

Finally, Lars manoeuvred himself onto the back seat, and the rank smell of his body odour immediately assaulted them. Josiah exchanged a little grimace with Peter; it was common for escapees to smell if they’d been on the run for any period of time.

“Bit wet and cold tonight,” Peter said. “But you’ll soon warm up now you’re in the car. When Matthew turns up, we’ll get you to a safe house where you can have a bath and a change of clothes.” He shot Josiah a little wink.

Lars blew on his fingers, his eyes darting and his knees bouncing up and down with nervous energy.

“Yup, definitely paranoid,” Josiah muttered under his breath.

Peter mouthed “Shh” at him, and poked his thigh firmly with his finger.

“So, are you guys all right?” he asked the men sat in the back brightly.

“Any injuries we should know about? We’ve got a sympathetic doctor on call if anyone needs medical attention, but we need to know about it now, so we can arrange it. ”

Ben shook his head, causing his hood to fall even further over his downcast eyes.

“We should leave now. I think I was followed,” Lars said urgently.

“What makes you say that, Lars?” Josiah queried, turning again in his seat to look at the big man. Lars might be paranoid, but that didn’t mean his fears were unfounded.

“Investigation Agency, or bounty hunter – I’m not sure which. I was followed for two miles yesterday but managed to lose them.”

“Do you have any reason to suspect an IA is on your trail?” Josiah probed. “By law, they have to identify themselves and ask to see some ID – they can’t just follow you around for hours on end.”

“A bounty hunter, then. Everyone knows they act outside the law,” Lars said, looking out of the windows wildly.

“No offence, but bounty hunters only go after high-value escaped indies; a cleaning company IS isn’t likely to attract them,” Josiah said drily. “Ben – where did you escape from?”

Ben looked like a frightened rabbit at being asked a direct question; he mumbled something about a factory into his scarf.

“How much longer must we wait?” Lars demanded. “We must go now.” He waved his hands in the air. Ben shrank back as far away from Lars’s manic energy as possible.

“It’s only 8.10,” Peter said patiently. “We always wait for half an hour. It’s not always easy for our escapees to get to us on time. Some of you don’t have money for transport and have to walk to the rendezvous point. You’re scared and alone, so we take that into account and give you some leeway.”

“Half an hour is too long,” Lars complained.

“Well, that’s how long we’re going to wait,” Josiah said firmly, glaring at the man.

“How about some music?” Peter suggested, trying to calm the situation. He shot Josiah a warning look and pressed a button on the car’s dashboard. “This will interest you – it’s a CD player, so it’s perfectly in period for a Pre-R car.”

“The music isn’t, though.” Josiah snorted as the familiar sounds of one of Peter’s favourite artists crooned at them.

“Peter’s a fan of New Wave Emo music,” he told their passengers, “which seems to mean sad young people with raspy voices singing daft songs with incomprehensible lyrics that sound like they mean something but don’t. ”

Peter laughed.

In his wing mirror, Josiah saw Ben peek out from under his hood to gaze at them, apparently startled by their old-married-couple schtick.

But he and Peter did this all the time. Their light banter was normal for them, but must have sounded incongruous to Ben, who was probably lost in the worry and drama of his escape.

Lars was still looking out of the windows, rocking manically .

“Joe, on the other hand, is a fan of Pre-R rock, when men were men and liked to form bands with bonkers names, throw electronic goods out of hotel windows, and sing about important man stuff,” Peter joked. It was an old argument, and one they got into frequently and with relish.

“At least Pre-R rock is more in keeping with the Pre-R car,” Josiah pointed out. “How did you even get this modern trash onto a CD?”

“Pre-R burner tech.” Peter shrugged. “Not very hard to find.”

“Oh, God.” Josiah sighed as the familiar sultry tones of a rising star going only by the name of Ashton blared out sonorously.

Old dreams fade slow

You once said that you’d never let go

Sweet words, wide smiles

You always said that you’d stay awhile

“Oh no, I’m so bloody sad, please let me drone on about how sad I am,” Josiah mocked, in tune.

“It doesn’t go like that,” Peter reprimanded, turning up the volume as the chorus started.

They said you’d been a sinner

They said you’d been a saint

I didn’t want either

Just wanted it to be fate

“What’s it about?” Josiah demanded. “It’s all just sad words about nothing.”

“Nonsense, it’s a song about love, and yearning, and… stuff,” Peter said.

“And stuff?” Josiah made a face.

“You know – stuff.” Peter waved his hand in the air, grinning.

Josiah turned around in his seat. “So – how about a vote?” he asked. “Anyone want something less pretentious? Something with a beat, perhaps? Maybe The Beatles? Or Queen?”

Ben shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself tightly, but Lars looked calmer, so Josiah thought the banter had defused that situation at least.

“I’m the driver,” Peter said firmly. “And the driver always gets to choose the music.”

“Yes, Captain.” Josiah tipped him a salute, as he always did when Peter pulled rank.

Peter laughed and sang along to the next verse.

Fever – rages on, making small talk was never much fun.

Voices – too loud, skin on skin speaking words unsung.

“God, it’s awful,” Josiah sighed as the chorus repeated.

“Hey – how about you go and get us something to drink while we’re waiting?” Peter suggested. “I’ll have a tea.” They always parked near a café, so they could buy hot drinks and food for the escapees, some of whom hadn’t eaten in days.

“Good idea. What do you guys want? Ben? Lars?” Josiah asked, pulling out his wallet to check he had enough cash cards.

He never used his bank account, so these kinds of transactions couldn’t be traced later.

Lars just stared at him, but Ben whispered “tea” into his scarf.

“Anything to eat?” Josiah pressed. Ben shook his head, while Lars ignored him completely.

“Okay – five teas, then. We’ll assume our missing Matthew will also fancy a cuppa when he shows up,” he said cheerfully, getting out of the car.

“Hopefully this horrible song will be over by the time I get back.” He grinned at Peter.

“Hah. Just for that, I’m going to play it again,” Peter laughed. Josiah made a face at him and left, with Ashton’s sad voice serenading him as he walked away.

Never heard the branches of the tree against my window

Scratching on, and on, and on…

Never felt the cold of winter creeping in

Snow on the sheets where you left me.