She lit it for him, which made her look tender, and I wished him luck. I wished everybody luck. Life was so chancy, it made my mind reel. Here we were, me and my Volvo Elite III Panorama coach, halfway up the M1 and all because of a dentist’s card. These sausages would never have been eaten by me. Edward was a dirty great eleven-year-old, he knew how to switch channels and tie his laces, he’d eaten at least eight flavours of crisps, and all because of a moment’s fumbling in the dark.

Perhaps he was dead.

Back in the coach I told myself again that this was just a jaunt and nothing would come of it. Does your mood change after a meal? After my chips I felt measured and cautious. I drove in the slow lane. I wanted to savour this drive, because I didn’t have a clue what I would find at the end.

They had moved away. She had married and gone to live in Toronto—no, Peebles, Hull, Hounslow. Minnesota. She had formed a lesbian attachment and taken him to a commune in Strathclyde. She had been killed in a road accident and he had gone to live with a maiden aunt who believed in an afterlife. He had been fostered with Filipinos. She had become an eminent sociologist. She had joined the Hare Krishnas—I wouldn’t put anything past her—and he had become a pasty-faced child who wanted to save my soul.

The sun had dried the motorway. I slotted in The Shadows and Hank’s guitar weaved its magic. She had married and he called her husband Dad. Dad did all the things I had never been able to do. He helped him with his maths and when he washed the car he let his son—my son—polish the wheels. When he bought his paper (Mirror? Guardian? Perhaps even the Daily Express, who knows?), he bought him football stickers as a surprise; I’d seen kids of Edward’s age squabbling over those in newsagents’.

It pained me, but I imagined them as parents, this blurred couple, Lesley and this man, and as they grew clearer I realized they were starting to resemble my own parents, proper parents, fixed ones, and that the little boy, despite his knowledge of current TV programmes, was me. As he always had been.

I nearly missed the turning. I was too busy dreaming things up. My cigarette packet slid as I slewed off to the left, Cars had been hooting at me all day. This hurt; about the only thing I’m good at is driving. Even my wife hadn’t complained about that.

It was 2.30 when I drove into Leicester. I realized, with surprise, that it was only a few hours since I’d been sitting at Luton Airport. I seemed to have been driving for weeks.

Seven

I had never been to Leicester. I drove round the Ring Road and pulled into a lay-by. I took out the large-scale map of Britain; it had Town Street Plans in it and searching through Leicester I found Talbot Road. It was near the centre. Talbot Close, I guessed, wouldn’t be far away.