For many reasons, that one hurts.

‘We won’t have to wait much longer. But you can’t hurry crocodiles.’

He looks at me properly, his lips – full, dark – curled downwards with irritation. But now his pale eyes are widening, as if he recognizes me too. Perhaps I was wrong and we have met before. Why else would those grey-violet eyes be so familiar?

‘Crocodiles?’

‘That’s what the teachers called it when they lined us up like this. Not sure why. Though children can get snappy.’

He smiles, but only to be polite, and takes out his phone, peering at a map on the screen, then back up at the surroundings. Exhales in frustration.

‘Where are you trying to get to? I know the campus quite well.’

‘Oncology. I left loads of time, but it’s like a maze round here.’

Oncology.

One of the kids has started singing – a K-pop tune – and her classmates are joining in. I try to focus on that, not on this man and whatever his story might be. It’s none of my business.

Yet I can’t help myself. Is he a patient? He still looks well: lithe, feline, with skin the colour of wet sand. But if he doesn’t know where he’s going, it must be a first appointment. Perhaps they’ve caught it in time.

‘Don’t panic.’ I make my voice as reassuring as possible. ‘The unit’s very close. Once we get to the end of here, it’s two minutes away, maximum.’

‘But I should have been there ten minutes ago.’

‘I volunteer at the unit, so I’m happy to show you the way. Try not to worry, it’s better for your treatment if you’re in a calm state of mind.’

So much for not getting involved.

‘I’m not the patient.’

‘Ah. Well, sometimes that’s even harder.’

Ahead of us the children reach the end of the path, and the teaching assistant at the back smiles a thank-you at us. It’s sunnier now we’re out of the alleyway, but the man’s entire face seems to be in shadow.

‘I shouldn’t have told her I’d go. I don’t think I can. Seriously, I’m not cut out for this—’ He’s panicking, the words getting faster and his breathing shallower. I take a step towards him, worried he’s about to faint.

‘OK, listen to me. The first thing to do is breathe. Do it with me. A deep breath in . . . hold it . . . and now a nice, slow breath out. And again. In . . . hold . . . out.’

He does as he’s told and his grey skin turns pinker.

It’s only as my own heart slows that I realize how fast it was beating. ‘Better?’ I ask and he nods. ‘You know it’s not that unusual,’ I say gently.

‘What isn’t?’

‘Being scared of hospitals.’

His eyes focus on mine. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’m good at reading people. But the unit is amazing.’ We’re walking now, my reassurance distracting him enough to keep moving. ‘And the reason I understand is not only because I’m a volunteer. I’ve been in your shoes. Supported someone who was having treatment.’