As she relayed all this to Adam, it spawned further childhood stories. Adam had grown up in the beautiful rural Cotswolds, an only child with professional parents. He’d lived in a large, comfortable house, his mum taking a career break from her job as a GP when he was young and only returning part-time during his school years. Becky told him of how Iris had brought her up during the day while her mum worked, and she’d never met her father. Adam had played in the woods that were a part of their garden, his father building him a treehouse over several weekends. Becky had gone to the local park just around the corner from her home and had loved going so high on the swings she felt as if she were flying, her feet seeming to lift above the horizon, as she pushed herself so she could see only sky.

Once or twice, she had turned the conversation to his work, but it had been difficult to engage him on it and he always ended up changing the subject.

They ate their way through lamb kebabs and flatbreads and finished the bottle of wine that Becky had persuaded Adam to drink with her. A little part of her thought that if he drank, he might open up a bit about his work.

By the time the waiter was hovering with the bill, they’d also polished off yet more wine to accompany the baklava and both were feeling quite tipsy.

‘I’m paying,’ said Adam but Becky insisted on splitting the bill. They headed towards the exit looking warily out of the window, where small particles of icy water hit the glass and dribbled downwards.

‘Right,’ said Adam, ‘I’m going to get you a cab.’ He rang a local company whilst they huddled under the eaves, but all their drivers were fully booked for at least two hours.

‘Another company?’ said Becky.

He tried two others, but they had no drivers available until eleven either.

‘It’s cold,’ said Becky, shivering.

‘I’m really sorry. I should have booked this when we first got to the restaurant.’

‘It’s OK. I’ll get the train.’

‘It’ll take as long as the wait. Engineering works, remember.’ He wondered for a moment whether to say it. ‘I only live five minutes away. If you want to wait there. It’s warm . . .’

‘Have you got coffee?’

‘A cafetière.’

‘Get you!’

He laughed but didn’t make a move.

‘Well, come on then,’ said Becky. ‘It’s freezing!’

They hurried down the brightly lit high street, Becky huddled against the cold, her hood pulled up over her head, the sleet stinging her skin through the thin denier of her tights. They turned down another street, then another, and then they were soon in a residential road with solid-looking Victorian properties. Halfway down, Adam dug in his pocket for some keys and then pushed open a pillar-box red front door, indicating for her to go first. She stepped into a communal hallway and there was something rather intimate about the small pile of mail addressed to Adam on the side table, a window into his private life, his domesticity. A door opened, and a young woman started to speak.