In the pocket of his trousers, his phone buzzed, and he took it out to read a message from his mother:

Beverley Cleverley

Do u know nething bout tortoises?

He frowned. There were several aspects of this that he deplored. The first was his mother’s casual use of text speak. Was it so difficult for her to spell out the words correctly? She was a writer, after all. Also, the lack of any introduction or sign-off. He hated such informality. He tapped a quick response,

Nelson Cleverley

Dear Mum,

Nothing, I’m afraid.

Best wishes,

Nelson Cleverley

before returning the phone to his pocket. When he looked up again, he noticed a young woman standing a few feet away looking directly at him, so he forced himself to smile, just as Dr Oristo had taught him. She smiled too and, to his horror, began walking towards him. He could feel his back breaking out in a sweat and his heart rate increasing. The palms of his hands grew damp, moisture seeping from them like a squeezed sponge, and he rubbed them against his trousers, hoping they wouldn’t leave a stain.

‘I’m sorry for staring,’ she said when she approached him. ‘I just have this thing for guys in scrubs.’

‘They’re very practical,’ replied Nelson. ‘I don’t normally wear them outside of the hospital, but I had an appointment, you see. With my orthodontist. I have aggressive molars, but they’re being treated and should become placid soon. I could have changed clothes but I didn’t have time. Fortunately, I don’t have any blood on these ones, they’re quite fresh. A lot of the time, scrubs are covered in blood or bodily fluids or faecal matter so they really shouldn’t be worn outdoors but, as I say, these ones are clean. Brand new, in fact. On a hot day like this, I suppose I’d be better off wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but this was all I had in my locker.’

‘Okay,’ said the girl, frowning, and he guessed that he had said too much. Always stop when you have plenty more to say. Another thing that Dr Oristo had drilled into him. Don’t keep talking, like some deranged sociopath.

The girl stared down the track, as if this might hurry the train along, but there was nothing. He took her in in a glance. About five foot seven, with shoulder-length red hair, pale skin and blue eyes. Lots of freckles around her nose. She was absolutely perfect and he wondered whether it would sound ridiculous to ask her to marry him.

‘They say a man threw herself under a train,’ said Nelson. ‘That’s why there’s such a delay.’

‘Who says so?’ asked the girl, turning back to him.

‘It’s what I’ve heard.’

‘But from whom?’

He nodded towards the other end of the platform. ‘The people up there,’ he said. ‘They’re more clued in, I think.’

The girl considered this.

‘I feel like we’re going to grow old down here,’ she said, checking her watch.