‘You should have better ones than these,’ he said. ‘These are shit.’

‘I lose ‘em; leave ‘em places. Makes no sense to buy good ones. Aren’t you hot? Take your jacket off.’

I was in shirt sleeves, light cotton trousers and Chinese kung fu shoes; behind the windscreen it was like a greenhouse as we drove into the sun. I was sweating freely.

‘I don’t feel the heat or the cold. Not since the treatment.’ I glanced at him; sweat was running down the side of his face and wilting his shirt collar.

‘Tell me about this place. I thought they were under strict supervision. Aren’t there… visitors, or something? Official inspections?’

He snorted. ‘The visitors are senile hacks. They should be in there, not… the patients… us. You’ll see. The place? It’s like a concentration camp. Fences, out of bounds areas. Cells… ‘

‘Cells? Come on.’

‘You’ll see.’

‘How? If it’s a registered private hospital we can’t just walk in and make a private inspection.’

‘I know a way in. Don’t worry.’

I was worried, very worried. For the rest of the drive I watched Greenway closely. He appeared to take no interest in the surroundings, spoke briefly to give me directions, and otherwise seemed to be asleep with his eyes open. We were forced to a crawl by the road works at Tom Uglys bridge where they’re putting in another span. I followed the signs to Sutherland.

‘You know Burraneer Bay?’ Greenway said abruptly.

‘Heard of it.’

‘That’s where we’re going. Left here.’

I followed the road through Gymea into the heart of the peninsula. The houses tended to be big on large blocks with expensively maintained lawns and carefully placed trees; a few were smaller and struggling to keep up appearances. Greenway directed me past the bowling club towards the water where the houses seemed to be craning up for a good view. We stopped in a short cul-de-sac occupied by a few Spanish-style houses; one had added a mock Tudor effect for insurance. The street ended in thick bush.