She looked aghast at herself for a second, and he burst into laughter. They shared the laugh, a tired, teetering laugh; almost warmer for the fact neither of them had the energy to finish it. Steffi touched his elbow and Emil couldn’t tell whether it was deliberate.

‘It isn’t so hard, learning English. You get an app. Phones, apps can do anything.’

‘I have the language app but it keeps making you say, like, he drinks milk, she drinks milk, my cat drink milk.’

‘My cat drinks milk,’ said Steffi, before she could help herself. Emil laughed sadly and rested his head in his hands.

‘Why does any of them drink milk, who is drinking milk, the freaks.’

Steffi smiled. Something popped up on the computer. ‘I’m just saying, you are smart, if you need to get better English, you can – I mean, I …’

He thought she was going to say I’ll teach you. But she was pointing to the screen and her bottom lip had dropped a little way. ‘Hey. Wait.’

Emil felt the beam of her attention flicker away; he had lost the moment. He tried to concentrate on the screen, at what was exercising Steffi, but she was already typing a reply.

‘I’d kind of like to do this again, do it more,’ she said. ‘I know that’s a weird thing to say.’

Emil gulped. He scanned his sparse larder for the right phrase. ‘It’s nice if we see – if we come for dinner, or to catch a movie.’

Steffi hesitated, embarrassed. ‘I mean – more of this thing. Of helping people, finding them. Like, I’m not so good at actually talking to people, meeting them, but this, I’m good at this. I’m good at helping get this shit done.’

Emil felt the breath going in and out of him. He could still turn this into a win; he could still make the tide go the way he’d thought it was going, with a bit of courage. Come on. He thought of his great-grandmother, all the rings and bangles on her thin wrist shaking like wind chimes as she pointed her finger at him. You are a good boy but you’re lazy, you expect things to come to you.

‘That’s cool,’ he said, ‘but also, can I kiss you?’

It was a long twenty seconds. Emil felt himself hurtle face down, from breath-held anticipation, to the fear that she hadn’t even heard him, to the sudden and complete knowledge that his gambit had failed. He wasn’t surfing a tide after all; he was trying to open a parachute, watching the ground rushing up.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ said Steffi, gently.

‘You don’t?’