Dan closed his eyes and thought about Alison, fragile, perhaps traumatised, plucked from hearth and home in Adelaide and plonked back down in Blighty, with only him for solace and company. He thought, too, about Katelin and Alex, especially Alex, whom he had never hurt, by word or deed. He imagined their faces as he wilfully dismantled their family life. Could he do this? Demolish beliefs and break hearts? Here, now, he knew he could, if it meant waking up beside Alison Connor day in, day out, being her man, getting to know every atom of her being, body and soul. If this made him a monster, then God, the world was full of monsters, the music industry especially so, a repository of failed relationships; but look, nobody had ever died of grief at being left, everyone moved on in the end, the details of their lives rearranged, often for the better. He could handle this. He could.

‘Let’s listen to Crocodiles.’

‘What?’

‘I need to make you love Echo and the Bunnymen. I discovered them without you. That was heartbreaking.’

‘OK,’ she said. He was on his feet, fetching her phone, so she sat up and leaned against the wall, hugging her knees, watching him search online for the album, and said, ‘They passed me by, I don’t know why, bad timing I suppose.’

He said, ‘I saw them in Liverpool in September seventy-nine, blew my fucking mind, the personification of cool, the four of ’em in a straight line – I mean, no riser at the back for the drums. Pete de Freitas was upfront with his kit, so it was de Freitas, Pattinson, Mac, Sergeant, all in a row. They looked awesome, sounded awesome, I was spellbound, then when they started playing I thought I might stop breathing.’ He delved into the pocket of his rucksack and pulled out his earphones, then sat down next to her. ‘We’ll share,’ he said, passing her a bud, keeping the other for himself. ‘Ah God, this is another box ticked, listening to Crocodiles with Alison Connor. If you don’t like it, you can sodding well lump it.’

She grinned at him. ‘Get on with it,’ she said.

They were seven tracks down and just getting started on ‘Villiers Terrace’ when Sheila’s head appeared round the door. Her face was grave.

‘Darlings,’ she said. ‘Michael’s downstairs.’