He raises his hand and waves at the muscular young man sat hunched behind the wheel. He still finds it hard to believe, sometimes, that the James Tramper of 2015 is the same James Tramper as the chubby, nervous boy that used to get picked on by Gary back in secondary school. 2015 Tramper is about six foot one, broad shouldered, and with arms thick from seven years of lifting weights in the gym. James says he got into it at uni – joined the gym with his housemates in Freshers’ Week on a whim, and hasn’t been a week without going since. Looking at him now, you can believe it.

As he approaches the car the passenger window rolls down.

‘Hey Matt,’ says Tramper.

Only now it’s not Tramper or Trumper or Slim Jim, or any of the other stupid nicknames he had back at school. Now the guys at his office call him Trample. They say it with grins on their faces as they go to high five him, and James grins right back.

What a difference 13 years can make, Matt thinks, and he almost smiles.

‘Hey, James.’

James pushes a button on the dash and the boot clicks. Matt walks round to the back of the car and opens it up, slinging his rucksack off his back and into the boot next to James’. He keeps his other bag in his hand and walks back to the passenger door.

Once he’s in the seat next to James he leans over and hugs his friend.

‘Man, you look tired,’ says James. ‘There’s nothing to you, either. Are you sure you’re eating enough?’

Matt laughs. ‘You sound exactly like my mum.’

‘How is she?’ asks James, grinning back.

‘Yeah, she’s okay. Worried about me, as usual. She gave me a proper interrogation when she picked me up yesterday. Am I getting enough sleep, all that stuff.’

‘You do look tired, though.’

‘Been working long hours, I guess.’

For the last four or so years, since he finished a postgraduate course in journalism up in Sheffield, Matt has been in London working for various papers. He started out as a Junior Reporter for a local rag in Croydon, and he’s gradually worked his way up the ladder. For the last couple of years he’s been an investigative reporter for a large national. He likes the job a lot, but the hours aren’t exactly sociable.

Then again, he thinks, glancing down at the brown bag in his lap. It’s not been the job that’s caused you to lose sleep over the last year.

James presses some buttons on the GPS stuck on the windscreen in front of him, then pulls away from Matt’s house.

Matt glances back, and finds himself wondering if he’ll ever see that house again. If he’ll ever see his mum again.