‘Well,’ said Dad, ‘I don’t …’ James’s heart was on a seesaw, about to be launched towards the sky or the ground. ‘I don’t, to be absolutely honest, to be completely serious with you, James …’ It was almost too much for the boy to bear, and then the punch line. ‘I don’t really see why not, either!’

James’s heart soared. He could still remember the excitement when Dad brought the little green tickets home from the station. He could remember telling everyone he met that he was going to Scotland on a train and would have to stay in a hotel because it was so far away.

It was remarkable to him that so many other people were travelling by train, and that they were acting as if it was completely normal, even when the whistle blew to send them off and a fanciful list of stations was read out. Wakefield Westgate. Chesterfield. Durham. These places, for all James knew of the country, might as well be on Jupiter. Sally was wearing a New Kids T-shirt and pale, ripped jeans. James watched the countryside speed by out of the window, feeling the world getting bigger every minute. Sally listened to her Walkman. Dad, reading, clapped very softly a couple of times. This was a habit he had, though normally he knew better than to do it in public – had been told off before. At home it was different. Once a joke in a P. G. Wodehouse novel had caused him to applaud so sharply that James spilled his hot chocolate on the rug, and Jean lamented, ‘White was a mistake, I told you, Alan; white is always a mistake.’

But today they weren’t at home, and more unusual things kept reminding James of that fact. Mum had made sandwiches, as always – Philadelphia and ham – but to James’s surprise Dad instead bought them all much bigger ones from the buffet car, having been unable once more to see why not. He had a can of beer, even though it was only lunchtime, winking to them as he fizzed it open; James had had the idea it was illegal to drink before night-time, because pubs always seemed to be shut until then. ‘This is the life!’ Dad said, and Sally immediately agreed – ‘Yes, this is the life all right’ – and so James adopted the phrase, making sure to say it as often as he possibly could in the weeks that followed.

Even when the train slowed and stopped altogether for a little while, and there were announcements about the delay, Mr Chiltern was unconcerned. ‘This is a fine state of affairs!’ he said, earning an irascible look from the man across the aisle.

‘What if something’s wrong?’ asked Sal.