‘There are worse places to grow old,’ he replied.

‘Are there?’ she asked. ‘Such as?’

He racked his brain and felt his heart thumping even harder in his chest, and tried to recall the coping strategies that Dr Oristo had taught him. I am a pleasant and attractive young man, he told himself. There is nothing to be frightened of.

‘A concentration camp,’ he said eventually. ‘It would be worse to grow old in a concentration camp. Although, I suppose, when you think of it, very few people did grow old in concentration camps because they died there. It was very sad, really. Nazis were horrible people, don’t you think?’

‘Well, yeah,’ she replied. ‘I mean, obviously.’

‘Sorry,’ said Nelson. ‘I don’t know why I’m talking about Nazis. They don’t make a good conversation topic. Maybe it’s because I watched Schindler’s List last week so they’ve been on my mind. The list is life, that’s what Ben Kingsley says in it. Apparently, he insists on being called Sir Ben Kingsley in real life. I don’t know, I’ve never met him. Have you?’

‘I have, actually,’ said the girl. ‘I sat next to him on a plane once.’

‘Did he make you call him Sir Ben Kingsley?’

‘Not that I recall. I don’t think we chatted much.’

‘The list is life,’ repeated Nelson. ‘I’m sorry, you’re not Jewish, are you?’

She looked distinctly unsettled now and peered down the platform again.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-Semitic,’ he continued. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. If anything, I’m pro-Semitic. Is that a phrase? Pro-Semitic? I’d love to be Jewish. I’m actually Presbyterian, sort of. I used to enjoy going to church when I was a child. I found it a very peaceful environment, although I never felt particularly spiritual.’

But she was already gone. He sighed, shaking his head, and thought that, if nothing else, this encounter would make a good story to tell Dr Oristo when he saw her.

From further along the platform, a commotion broke out and he turned in the direction of the noise. To his dismay, the crowd seemed to be dividing in the centre, like the Red Sea parting under Moses’ command, and a narrow corridor opened up before him. At the far end, an old man was sitting on the ground while his wife held his hand and called out for a doctor. And there was Nelson. In his scrubs.

The entire platform turned in his direction.

He began the slow walk towards the stricken man, enjoying the reverential silence of the onlookers but dreading arriving at his destination. It reminded him of prize-giving ceremonies at school, where he’d been forced to walk through the Great Hall to collect his trophy while his bully, Martin Rice, laughed at him and lobbed chewed-up bits of paper at his head.