But Azra said she was going away for the weekend—another flying visit to France, apparently—and somebody else was taking her place. So I thought I’d put it off for another week.

Besides, I was having second thoughts about the whole enterprise. I realised I’d been doing it largely to impress Azra. To be honest, I’d been hurt by her shuddering recoil at my suggestion she moved in with me. She could have been more graceful about it. Now I could turn the tables and surprise her. There’d be a touch of the touché about co-habiting with a Syrian asylum-seeker.

During the last few days, however, I’d been getting cold feet. What happened if my lodger and I didn’t get on? I could hardly chuck them out after all they’d been through. Yet another expulsion, after so many.

So I didn’t go to the hub. But I needed to go in that direction because I had something to drop off at Azra’s flat. Her birthday was on the Sunday, and though she dismissed birthdays as irrelevant, I’d always given her a present. I’d bought her a book about rewilding and a tasteful Gwen John card, both of which would fit through her letterbox.

And I fancied a jaunt. The street outside her flat was filled with shops selling cheap vegetables and spices. So I decided to go shopping and deliver the package. At least it would get me out of the house.

I took the bus there. It was full of children clambering over their parents, who snapped at them but who were unconditionally loved. That morning I was filled with even more self-pity than usual. I thought: I come first with nobody. I’d thought I came first with Azra, but she obviously had somebody else. The signs were unmistakable: the absences, the phone calls. I thought she was my companion in the wilderness, my ally and inspiration. With her as my guide, slashing away the undergrowth and clearing a path, we could face the future together.

The bus stopped at some roadworks. That year, 2018, it seemed that the whole of London was being dug up and turned over like a giant compost heap. Later I remembered every detail of that day. I had a strong feeling of foreboding. I presumed I was just nervous about the simple act of shopping in a different area. Taking any decision nowadays filled me with dread; a mundane Saturday, with people thronging the streets, made my heart pound. So I decided to delay going to the shops. I’d drop off the package first.

I got off the bus and walked towards Azra’s flat, above Karim’s takeaway. There were a lot of Turkish restaurants in her street. Her favourite was called Yassar Halim.

It was there that I saw her, in Yassar Halim. She was sitting at a table by the window, half-obscured by a rubber plant, and talking to a man.

It was Greg.

Three

I knew. I just knew. You can tell, can’t you, when two people are sleeping together? You can tell by the body language, the way they mirror each other’s gestures. They do it unconsciously, of course. I knew it straight away.