It irritated me that I felt a brief rush of pride at his praise, as if I had pleased a respected superior with the performance of some trivial task. I decided to sit back down on the bed, and to recline on the cushions in order to repossess my room with a display of my own relaxation. It seemed to work for a moment, as Michael looked down at me unsure of whether he too should sit down. The grand proportions of his torso amplified any moment of physical indecision, and he seemed suddenly bulky and oversized. ‘Look,’ he said, breaking in on his own paralysis, ‘I know it’s asking rather a lot, but would you mind if I borrowed some clothes, and washed my hands before I head off? They caught me in their torches from down in the court. I felt rather like a rabbit on the estate.’ He paused for a beat to let the social implications of the comparison sink in. ‘I’d be in hot water if they recognized me. You look a big enough chap. Perhaps if I could just borrow a jumper and a pair of trousers. Oh, and do you have a baseball cap, or a . . . a sweatshirt, or whatever they’re called?’ I nodded my assent, and got up to search through my cupboard. Meanwhile Michael went over to the sink, a white enamel block set into the wall with a small mirror screwed into the plaster above it. He had to stoop to see his reflection, and when he was certain his hands were clean he used a palm-full of water to pat down his black hair. Something about the care with which he performed this ritual told me he was not going bald gracefully. I produced a pair of old Gap jeans and a green hooded Nike jumper I seldom wore from my shelves. The cupboard itself had a strong smell of transitional life, the newspaper, disinfectant and dust smell of cheap hotels and railway stations, and it was starting to permeate my wardrobe. His wide nostrils contracted a little as he took the clothes, but if he had any reservations about my choices he was gracious enough to conceal them in silence. I turned away whilst he changed, not wishing to get a flash of his broad flanks or hairy naked chest.

‘Bloody good of you,’ he said, admiring himself in the mirror after his transformation. ‘I’ll leave my own things here if I may. You needn’t wash them, you can give them back to me next Thursday. I shall take you out to dinner, if that’s all right, to say thank you for being such a good sport. I would entertain you this weekend, but I have a rather important debate to prepare for the Union. Let it never be said that Michael Findlay doesn’t know how to repay hospitality.’ This last comment he turned away from me towards the room at large, an actor soliloquizing to the pit.