“Thank God!” I say instead. “I was getting desperate there.”

“It’s frustrating,” he agrees quietly.

“They just don’t think, do they?” I say. “I mean, some of us have got crucial things we need to be doing. I’m in a terrible hurry!”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry myself,” says the man.

“If that train hadn’t started moving, I don’t know what I would have done.” I shake my head. “You feel so . . . impotent!”

“I know exactly what you mean,” says the man intensely. “They don’t realize that some of us . . .” He gestures toward me. “We aren’t just idly traveling. It matters whether we arrive or not.”

“Absolutely!” I say. “Where are you off to?”

“My wife’s in labor,” he says. “Our fourth.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well . . . Gosh. Congratulations. I hope you—”

“She took an hour and a half last time,” says the man, rubbing his damp forehead. “And I’ve been on this tube for forty minutes already. Still. At least we’re moving now.”

He gives a little shrug, then smiles at me.

“How about you? What’s your urgent business?”

Oh God.

“I . . . ahm . . . I’m going to . . .”

I stop feebly and clear my throat, feeling rather sheepish. I can’t tell this man that my urgent business consists of picking up a scarf from Denny and George.

I mean, a scarf. It’s not even a suit or a coat, or something worthy like that.

“It’s not that important,” I mumble.

“I don’t believe that,” he says nicely.

Oh, now I feel awful. I glance up—and thank goodness, it’s my stop.

“Good luck,” I say, hastily getting up. “I really hope you get there in time.”

As I walk along the pavement I’m feeling a bit shamefaced. I should have got out my 120 quid and given it to that man for his baby, instead of buying a pointless scarf. I mean, when you think about it, what’s more important? Clothes—or the miracle of new life?

As I ponder this issue, I feel quite deep and philosophical. In fact, I’m so engrossed, I almost walk past my turning. But I look up just in time and turn the corner—and feel a jolt. There’s a girl coming toward me and she’s carrying a Denny and George carrier bag. And suddenly everything is swept from my mind.

Oh my God.

What if she’s got my scarf?

What if she asked for it specially and that assistant sold it to her, thinking I wasn’t going to come back?

My heart starts to beat in panic and I begin to stride along the street toward the shop. As I arrive at the door and push it open, I can barely breathe for fear. What if it’s gone? What will I do?

But the blond girl smiles as I enter.

“Hi!” she says. “It’s waiting for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say in relief and subside weakly against the counter.