‘I don’t think I’ve got a “long game”,’ said James, repeating the phrase in such a hesitant tone of voice that Michaela let out one of her ear-catching laughs. ‘I just, my friend persuaded me to do it, I suppose. And I wanted to feel better. More confident.’

Michaela nodded. ‘I want to do a 5K. I was doing the Couch to 5K thing, but the woman’s voice was too annoying. Good work! You’ve got this!’ Michaela speared a sautéed potato as if she were stabbing the offending voice artist. ‘I thought to myself, I could run without some bint from the telly patronizing me. I googled fitness things that weren’t too cringeworthy. I’m going to do this 5K in Blackheath in July. You should do it.’

‘Five kilometres,’ said James, ‘is, what, three miles? I mean, I drive people shorter distances than that in my car.’

‘You’re a taxi driver?’

‘Private hire. You can’t just jump in. You have to book me in advance.’

‘Do I, indeed.’ Michaela grinned, and he had time to admire her two big front teeth, which he had noticed with every laugh he’d got out of her these past two weeks. Then her face became serious. ‘You absolutely could do it. We’ll do it together.’ The word together was like a bell ringing in James’s brain.

‘All right,’ he said, and the next day she sent him a training plan, and that was that.

*

The night before the 5K, James took off work. By exchange of texts they confirmed that they were both loading up with carbs, and would both make sure to get as much sleep as possible. James ate a lasagne for lunch, then a Sainsbury’s moussaka for the evening. ‘Bloody hell, dude,’ said Karl, ‘you’re running round a park, not going to the South Pole.’ He’d sponsored James for £50, and James gave back a twenty-pound note, feeling that it was too much; but the following day he found the twenty in his shoe, and when he tried to return it again, Karl retaliated by putting it into James’s sandwich. He had to cry out to stop James from eating it.

They’d arranged to meet in the ‘runners’ village’ constructed out of little marquees near the start line, but there were far more people than he’d envisaged. James realized too late that the dropping-out of his phone signal, which he’d seen as a temporary whim of the network, might in fact last for the whole morning. He thought he saw Michaela half a dozen times, or heard her obscene laugh. It was maddening knowing that she was here somewhere, but he wouldn’t be able to find her. Well: she would wait for him on the finish line, James told himself.