As I spoke the name of each country, I felt its breath on the back of my neck, the peculiar scent and pressure in the air that hits you when the plane door opens on the runway. I could feel my words were coming up short, that what I was saying risked sounding trite, but I knew as she looked into my eyes that she could see the truth of it.

‘James!’ She laughed, though the tears were still threatening. ‘James, that’s crazy. I mean, my family are here, my job, my work, my flat. My boyfriend.’

‘Yes?’ I said. ‘So what? You don’t love them, any of them. Augustus White will be looking for us. Maybe Lisa too. I want to run away, but I want to run to something, not just from something. I believe we can do it. You have your passport, right? You said you always carried it in your bag.’

‘Yes, I have it.’

‘You see? It’s perfect. It’s the right thing to do.’

‘And what about us, James?’ she asked, turning her eyes away and shaking her head. Her voice dropped lower, the edge of incredulity gone. ‘I mean, when we stop off in Cancún or Bangkok or wherever the hell you have us going, do you see us renting a double room or a twin bed? Be honest, because—’

‘Don’t say it,’ I said, knowing that if she spoke her words could not be called back. ‘Leave it. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I remember what Francis taught me. He showed me that most people use their imaginations and their intelligence to construct arguments against doing what scares them. Now, that’s fine if what scares you is the wrong thing, but when it’s the right thing . . . you and I are clever people, Jessica. We can sit here for hours and think up reasons, good, strong, reasonable reasons why we should stay here and face this out. And every second we sit here, we’ll be binding ourselves in place, putting down roots, strengthening the ties. We only get this one chance. I won’t risk waiting. I’m going, and I want you with me, as a friend, a lover, a sister, I don’t care and I won’t guess. Let your imagination fight on the other side. Picture us away from the rain, starting again. Free.’

I waited, kneeling in front of her like a man waiting to become a groom. I had played my last card. I held my breath. I willed my conviction into her. I was already gone, I felt as if I was in a stranger’s apartment, a stranger with whom I had conducted a decade-long affair, finally ready to leave. The files in the corner, the ballast of my life, were light and insubstantial, just the pages they had always been, a paper golem bereft of its magical life. The keys were a cold burden in my pocket, and I longed to cast them back through the letterbox, out of reach on the mat. The clothes in the wardrobe did not fit me, the bottle in the drawer could sit there and rot. My landlord could have my porn and TV in lieu of notice. I would go out into the street with my credit card and passport and the clothes I was wearing, and I would leave before my nerve failed me. On Monday the office would call, and my phone would ring and flash and vibrate in fury in the quiet darkness of my bedroom until the battery ran out. In time, I might even make it into firm legend, the young partner-to-be who couldn’t take the pressure, and disappeared one snowy Saturday without a trace.