Lucas couldn’t think what it was, where he was. Then he remembered and he waited a moment or two before opening his eyes. He had soiled himself, or Rolf had. He didn’t want to see it or engage with it or help clear it up. ‘Mate? Come on. Please.’ Rolf’s voice, wheedling. A hand on his arm. He opened his eyes, saw that the stink came from a bowl of brown liquid next to his bed, a modest-sized turd floating in it. Lucas knew all about the symptoms of distress shown by caged animals in zoos – standing and rocking or nodding their heads repeatedly, and eating their own faeces. Jesmond used to go on and on about it before freeing as many of them as he could from London Zoo in Regent’s Park and going on the run. So when Rolf dipped a spoon into the bowl of filth and brought it to his lips, Lucas wasn’t as shocked as another man might have been. He took hold of Rolf’s arm very gently and said, ‘No.’ ‘You got to have nourishment,’ said Rolf. ‘It’s all there is.’ Then Lucas saw that the brown liquid was a soup of some kind.
