‘You’re forgetting my skid on the tulip halfway down the aisle,’ he says through the laughter.

Martin’s face lights up and his body ripples with mirth. ‘Oh yes! Much more decorous than a banana skin!’

Soon, both of them are fighting for breath, holding their stomachs. Martin’s face in laughter is timeless and William feels thirteen again; the same boy, but this time, free.

The shriek of trolley wheels in the corridor brings them back to themselves, their bodies relaxed, their faces aching.

‘God, that feels good!’ William says eventually. ‘I never thought, in a million years, I’d be able to laugh about that.’ He inhales deeply. ‘I feel cleaned out.’

Martin nods. ‘Best medicine and all that.’

‘Thank you, Martin,’ William says.

‘You know me, always up for a good laugh.’

‘Not for that.’

‘Oh.’

William watches Colin. ‘For everything. Saving the “Miserere”. Being pleased to see me outside the college with Gloria. Letting me stay.’ On the periphery of his vision, he can see Martin’s face looking at him. He finally looks back. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

Martin smiles and shakes his head slowly. ‘I’ve told you before, no one deserves anyone.’

‘Thank you.’

Martin nods at Colin. ‘You’ve performed a minor miracle here today, my friend. He can’t tell you himself, but it’s a fact that he’d be extremely grateful for this.’

A surge of hope pushes on William’s lungs. He’s not sure for what, but it propels him to the foot of the bed. ‘Let’s make sure the sheets are tucked in at the bottom – if his wife sees the state of his toenails, we’re rumbled.’

Once they’ve both attempted a hospital corner, Martin rubs his hands together. ‘Right! I’m going to find us both a disgusting cup of tea.’

William rolls the newspaper up and drops it in the bag, putting everything else on top of it. He places it in the corner then sits and waits, looking at Colin; his jawline, the gully of flesh between his nose and mouth, his pale pink lips. He decides when he gets back to Martin’s, he’s going to put the ‘Miserere’ on. Loud.

His back is to the door and, although they arrive in silence, he knows they are there. She’s slender, in high heels and a bright green coat, flanked by a teenage boy with shoulder-length wavy hair, and a younger girl, holding her mum’s hand with both of hers.

‘Hello.’ The chair scrapes loudly as he stands. ‘I’m William.’

‘Are you the man who rang Mum?’ says the girl who has Colin’s chin and nose. They remain in the doorway.

‘No, but I sing in a choir with your dad.’