I didn’t know how far I’d driven; the fuel gauge was three-quarters full. In my headlights I could see a hedge beside the road; somebody appeared to have tipped a rubbish bin over it. My watch said 6.30; I didn’t trust myself to drive. I knew I wasn’t alone. I paused, holding my breath, but I couldn’t hear anything so I switched on the lights just to make sure the coach was empty. The seats had a theatrical, expectant look; at each of the windows a little curtain was drawn back and hooked to the side, as if we were all waiting for something to begin. An empty coach isn’t just empty; it changes, according to your mood.

Two more cars crawled by. I felt exposed, with my vehicle lit like a liner, and I switched the light off. The seats were swallowed up in the gloom. When my eyes got used to the dark I turned round again and looked at the rows of them, two each side. I thought of them occupied by my unborn children. I heard the rustle of whispers; was that a giggle? I couldn’t see their faces, I didn’t know their ages, but they were all a part of me and each one of them made a future. Despite Eleni’s complaints we must have made love hundreds of times; there might even be a woman to come, though it was hard to imagine at this moment. All the possibilities made my brain ache. Blokes don’t usually think like this, do they? It wasn’t what you discuss down at the pub. I was probably off my rocker.

I was dead tired. There was no question of driving. So I turned off the headlights and made my way down the aisle, to the back of the coach. I felt as shaky as an old man in hospital. We kept blankets in one of the overhead racks, so I bundled up one as a pillow, wrapped myself in two more, and lay down on the back seat. It was narrow, and my nose was cold. A passing lorry shook the coach. I stuffed my knuckles into my mouth, and fell asleep.

I was going into a shop to buy Clearasil for Edward’s pimples. It was the butcher’s shop in Windermere but it had changed to a chemist’s now, and instead of the lake around the corner I knew there was the sea. I could hear its murmur.

I said solemnly: ‘My son will soon be a man.’

Somebody passed me a package, I couldn’t see their face.

I took it and announced: ‘The first pimple. Know what it heralds?’ I sighed. ‘Love. Poor little sod.’

Outside the shop I looked for him, but the street was empty. It was longer now, and stretched into the distance.

‘Poor little sod,’ I said. ‘And pray, will any woman want him?’