‘I was right in front of them,’ Gloria says, nodding, ‘but I could hear this posh voice talking to them, so I knew they were being looked after. I breathed through my mouth so I couldn’t smell them and it was fine.’

‘They wouldn’t have been allowed in my day,’ says William. ‘Oh! Here he is!’

Martin threads his way through the bodies, navigating the narrow spaces as if he could do it with his eyes closed.

‘William Lavery!’ Martin sits and slaps both hands on the dark table. ‘How absolutely bloody marvellous to see you.’ He turns his beam from William to Gloria. ‘And you too, Mrs Lavery. Absolutely bloody marvellous.’ He gulps the beer, then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand with expansive, exaggerated movements so familiar to William, he feels an ache. ‘What brings you to Cambridge?’

‘Gloria’s always wanted to come and see where I misspent my youth.’

‘And now I get to meet the person he misspent it with!’ Gloria says.

The couple on the next table turn their heads at Martin’s laugh – that laugh! ‘Your beloved,’ Martin says to Gloria, his voice deep and rich, ‘was the finest chorister ever to have graced the college chapel.’

‘Bit of an exaggeration,’ William objects, but feels that warm wash of Martin’s generosity.

‘It’s not, Gloria, ask Phillip Lewis. He’d back me up.’

‘Do you still see him?’ William straightens. ‘Do you live here?’

‘Yes and yes.’ Martin nods, sitting back, his stomach pushing against the checked shirt. ‘After university – I failed, by the way – I went to Ivory Coast with VSO for three years. Every teacher and tutor I ever had told me how selfish and lazy I was, so I decided to prove them wrong. Loved the people, loved the climate, could have stayed there, to be honest, but Mum got ill, and I came back to help look after her for the last six months.’

William tries to imagine robust Mrs Mussey on her deathbed. ‘I’m sorry.’

Martin dips his head. ‘It was three years ago now. Dad shed this mortal coil too, a year later. Wasn’t any point for him without her.’

William is ashamed and sad. In another life, he would have been at their funerals.

‘Anyway,’ Martin continues, his broad face etched with fine lines, freckles still dotting his nose and cheeks, ‘I came into a fair bit of dosh and went slightly berserk in true prodigal fashion. Did too much of everything that wasn’t good for me, not enough of what was. Lived in San Francisco for a while, and London. Then I had a particularly painful break-up, and when I sorted myself out, had a think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.’

‘And you came back here?’ Gloria’s East London accent always turns up a notch when she’s concentrating.