As the barman took his euros, Roxette’s ‘Listen to Your Heart’ started pumping out of the speakers.

‘Never worked out what year this was from,’ said a voice, very close to him. ‘Was it eighties, nineties, noughts? Could be any of them, know what I mean?’

De Payns snapped out of his reverie. There was a man in his early forties—American by the sound of him—standing at the bar, a fifty-euro note held between his fingertips. ‘I’ll have what he’s having,’ said the man.

The barman opened a Heineken and took the money. The American continued. ‘I think it’s nineties, but is this Berlin or Roxette?’

De Payns laughed. He also confused the two bands occasionally, and the timeless nature of the song made it very hard to nail down to a year.

‘Definitely Roxette,’ said de Payns. ‘But I don’t know what decade it’s from.’

The barman slapped down the American’s change. ‘Narek,’ said the American, ‘what year is this song from?’

The barman gave a quick nod of thanks as the American pushed his tip towards him. ‘I don’t know,’ said Narek, who was maybe twenty-five. ‘It’s, like, classic rock. It’s, like, old.’

The American turned, and for a second de Payns saw a flash of himself. The same professional openness, the practised ease of meeting new people, the conservation of movement in public that makes a person less conspicuous. He was slightly shorter than de Payns, and he wore a pair of chinos and a dark blue polo shirt. He was groomed to be forgettable, right down to the suburban haircut and fresh shaving. Like de Payns, here was a man who shaved twice a day so he was always unremarkable, always in the background. De Payns would bet his pension on this American having no tattoos, no jewellery and no piercings. De Payns couldn’t even smell him—there was no aftershave or cologne, and unlike most Americans, his polo shirt was logo-free.

‘Peter, from the US,’ said the man. ‘Sales.’

‘Sébastien, from Paris,’ said de Payns. ‘Consulting.’

They raised beers in the direction of each other but didn’t touch.

‘Roxette are strange,’ said de Payns. ‘They wrote and sang in English, even though they’re Swedish.’

‘Like ABBA,’ said Peter.

‘Yeah, but ABBA recorded in Swedish. I think Roxette only recorded in English and Spanish …’

‘And Portuguese,’ said Peter. ‘I heard them once in a taxi in Rio. Least, I think it was them. Could have been Berlin.’

‘Ha!’ said de Payns, liking this guy’s humour. ‘Rio? Nice down there.’

‘I sold a bunch of data switches to a Brazilian company and they comped me for a few days in Rio during the Olympics. Saw some boxing and high jump. A bit of javelin. It’s a very cool city.’

‘I’ve never been to Brazil,’ said de Payns.

‘First time in Pakistan?’ asked Peter.