Morocco did fascinate, however, and he had spent the afternoon hovering around the port, deciding whether to take the ferry over to Tangier the next day. It was a trip lasting all of two hours, but one that would place him for the first time in Africa – the continent where some of his family tree had begun one, two, maybe four centuries ago. It would be a momentous decision, yet he was afraid that if Europe was opening little skylights, through which he could see that its history was more than he’d ever realized, then surely Africa would open whacking great doors, through which he might never return. He knew little of Africa beyond the popular image of starving peasants and corrupt governments, and it seemed too vast a territory to contemplate navigating until he was ready. It was for package holidays to Egypt or Kenya, or for real independent travellers, not for kidders like himself. Aware that he was talking himself out a major adventure, Stanley recognized his old self peering cowardly above the parapet, the self who weighed up the cons and dismissed the pros. He decided that Africa would be for another time. A properly planned trip.

Moreover, leaving Europe would sever the potential for any contact with Jessie, perhaps for ever.

After their altercation in Marbella, unable to breathe properly or think clearly, he had taken off along the coast, bought a rucksack and given away those vile tracksuits to a hotel cleaner. He began to pick up some Spanish. ¿Hay un hostal aqui cerca? ¿No tiene algo más barato? ¿Cóm éste in español? He would research a town and its history, select somewhere cheap to sleep and enjoy the company of strangers. A simple interaction in a bar, maybe a bullfight on the television, a crowd of men gathered to watch, and he, one of them, sampling herbed olives, sliced sausages, toasted almonds, beer.

It was a pleasure to know that his soap would still be in the exact same position where he had left it last; that his watch lay unharmed by the bedside cabinet and had not been clumsily knocked down behind it; that he would no longer have to wade through women’s clothes when he went to the bathroom in the middle of the night; that each perfect squeeze of toothpaste was his and his alone. He realized how much he had missed talking to people, how Jessie had dominated conversations to the point where he became the mute, compliant partner, registering pity in the eyes of people who would look kindly upon him, as if he were a bit slow.