In fact, to be perfectly honest it wasn’t one of my subjects at all.

I sing along inside my head.

‘Fern aus dem tiefen, dunkeln Thal …’

It is not one of the world’s most beautiful languages. It’s not a happy language, like Italian; nor a romantic language, like Russian, or indeed my own unspoken language, Irish, both full of soft curvaceous sounds that embrace you, invite you to listen. German halts you in your tracks. Stop right there, it seems to say. Do not come one step nearer.

‘… schwingt sich empor der Wiederhall.’

It sings well though.

I sing well in my head.

‘Der Wiederhall der Klüfte.’

On the edge.

I stand here right on the edge and sing.

‘Und singe …’

I like the feel of the land dropping steeply away below me, the narrow road and then the railway tracks and beyond them the shining sea.

A bird’s-eye view.

‘Hello there.’

‘Je weiter meine Stimmer dringt,

je heller sie mir wiederklingt von unten …’

‘Miss, ah … excuse me. Hello?’

I ignore such invasive voices.

Und singe.

He hadn’t thought to bring his coat.

The sun and the blue sky had beckoned him out from his bedroom in the hotel where he had spent the last week, and for the first time he had snatched up the dog’s lead from the table by the door and gone out without putting on his coat. Now the wind found its way through his jeans and sweatshirt and made him shiver. Made him swear too about his own stupidity.

Pansy was happy though and thumped her tail against his leg as he walked up the road towards the park. She was even happier when he bent down just inside the park gates and released her; she was away off at once into the trees, her nose to the ground snuffling and searching for some exciting scent.

She was not made uneasy by the unfamiliarity of her surroundings; from time to time she would look back towards him just to check that he had not disappeared, her tail would flick for a moment and then she would continue with her search.

Faithless creature!

He smiled a sour little smile and two children ran past him, calling to a woman who pushed a buggy up the hill in front of him. They were breathless with laughter.

‘Mammy, Mammy,’ one of them called. ‘Wudja hang on a minute. You’re going too fast.’ Obediently the woman stopped walking. She turned and waited, smiling at the children as they scrambled towards her.

Laurence began to shake; his whole body was struck with what seemed to be an ague. He couldn’t move, couldn’t put one foot in front of the other, he could only stand trembling, his arms wrapped tightly across his chest in an effort not to fall apart. The woman with the pram looked in his direction for a moment and then turned and went on her way up the hill, the children chattering beside her.