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he had seen in her eyes in the slot made by her veil.
    She would go upstairs… He decided to pull in for a moment, to a layby, under the pretext of consulting a map. No one could see in through the tinted windows but it wasn’t a good idea to drive while he was feeling like this. It wasn’t safe. He didn’t want to have a crash and hurt someone or himself. He didn’t want it reported in the news that came in on the computer in Jones’s office, ‘man with erection kills widow and children,’ or, ‘man dies in car crash, with erection.’ They didn’t report details like that, of course. Or he had never seen them reported. Perhaps it had never happened before? No, men had dirty thoughts about other men’s wives all the time.
    He imagined Joanna Jones going upstairs, knowing the camera was watching her. Knowing her husband was watching her and had perhaps noticed a difference in the way she was behaving. Would she find it stimulating to think that her husband was jealous and had only himself to blame? Would Jones find it stimulating? No, that wasn’t an image he wanted to pursue; Jones wanking in the men’s lavatory at the thought of other men looking at his wife.
    Joanna Jones would go upstairs to the bathroom and remove her knickers. Perhaps she would take a razor and shave the backs of her legs at the top. She might not know that he would find that erotic, so perhaps she would not. What had he told her? What would she do so that he would know that it was for him?
    Had he mentioned jam? Possibly not. He had certainly mentioned her husband. He had hinted at danger. He had thought of having sex with her but not said it aloud. That was all their relationship consisted of. And, to be fair, to many minds it wouldn’t quite constitute a relationship.
    It was a warm, sunny day and he had the air conditioning turned up in the car. Still, he was perspiring. He felt guilty. He wondered whether Angela had fantasies about other men. Thank God women weren’t allowed out of the house. He didn’t mean that, of course. But still. Who did she come into contact with? The delivery drivers, the postman, the milkman. Neighbours going off to work in the morning. Did she have salacious thoughts about any of them? If he asked her tonight, would it put an idea into her mind that had never been there? If he asked her, would she think it was a fantasy of his and try to please him by naming someone? Would she turn to him with her dressing gown half open and nothing underneath and say yes, when I touch myself, I think of Jones. Fortunately not – she didn’t know Jones.
    If Jones asked Joanna, would she tell him that she thought of the man from the Ministry and describe Lucas? Not if she had any sense. He thought of Jones slapping Joanna, saying something like, ‘I’ll beat you black and blue, mate.’ Did Jones call his wife ‘mate’? He didn’t want to think about Jones. He felt aggrieved, as if Jones was deliberately intruding on his fantasy.
    He drove to the address he had been given and parked his car outside. He walked up to the front door. He saw a few weeds in the path. He saw evidence of peeling paint. He saw a sweet wrapper on the ground, left behind by the bin men. He didn’t stoop to pick it up; it would blow away soon enough.
    The miracle that had been reported was something to do with a child. So many women seemed to have a fantasy of themselves as a Mary figure, with their child a saint. It would make their lives easier to bear, no doubt, to have a child who would be looked after and revered. Perhaps the women thought they would be taken away with the child to live in a palace somewhere and be protected. His own belief was that even if he made a report to say that he had found a miracle, someone would intervene, take the people concerned into custody for questioning, harass them, accuse them of being involved in terrorism, then lock them up somewhere for good. Or terminate them. Maybe it was just as well he’d never