“They look like ants to me. Little black ants crawling all over it.” He narrowed his eyes, leant as close as he dared without setting off the alarms.

“Hmmm. Maybe.” Her tone was sceptical. “It’s kind of hard to tell from here, but he did have a thing about them you know, Dali, so they could be ants. Sandwich?”

“What? Oh, yes, right, thanks. Ham?” He took a bite and winced at the instant brain fire.

“Oh, sorry love, too much mustard again? Might have been a bit heavy-handed with it, I really must learn to go easy!” She grinned sheepishly.

“Bloody hell! You need to watch that. Almost blew my head off! I’m sure they’re ants. But why are they on a pocket watch?”

He took a swig of Fanta.

There was a low gurgle behind them.

“Is he alright darling?”

“Think so. Just getting comfy. Probably dreaming.”

“The picture’s made up of melting clocks sweetheart, and you’re worried about the realism of ants on a watch? You do make me laugh sometimes, you really do.” She squeezed his bicep affectionately. “Mmm. Someone’s been back at the gym! I like it.” She reached down and squeezed his bum quickly.

“Easy! It’s hardly the time or place!” He glanced round swiftly.

“Spoilsport.” She grinned lasciviously at her husband.

“There’s ants in the carpet, dirty little monsters.” He sang tunelessly through the remains of his sandwich.

“Oh my God! Blur! Do you remember that gig, how stoned were we?” She squealed half in delight and half in embarrassment at the memory. “Didn’t you crowdsurf?”

“Yeah, might have. Memory’s a bit sketchy, cos of, well…. So anyway, why did he have a ‘thing’ about ants?”

“So apparently when he was a child, he stumbled on a dead animal in the woods or somewhere, all rotten and covered in ants. It gave him a phobia, understandably, so he used them to symbolise decay, the passing of time and the impermanence of existence.”

“Blimey. D’you bring any crisps?”

“Ah. We only had cheese and onion I’m afraid love, we need to do a Tesco’s shop at the weekend, I know you hate cheese and onion. There’s a Penguin though, if you fancy.”

“Thanks. Maybe later. We’d better get back to work. Time’s knocking on.”

They yanked their balaclavas back down and returned to the task at hand.

“OK. Get the alarms sorted sweetie, then I’ll snip this baby out of the frame. How long have we got left?”

He checked his watch. “37 minutes til the next shift.”

“Best get cracking then gorgeous, off you pop. Radio me when it’s done.”

With 7 minutes until fresh guards arrived, the painting was in a cardboard tube from the gift shop and they were making for the exit.

On the way to the door, he checked the knots on the guard and coshed him once more, just to be safe.

“Come on, better hurry. You know how antsy the big man gets if we’re late back.”