‘My wife and I fell in love the instant we met. She’s gone now, but she’s always with me, you know, in all the moments we shared,’ he said, and Harri feared he might cry. He took a couple of breaths, and she prayed he would hold it together, because she didn’t think she’d be able to stop herself if she saw someone else weeping. ‘She loved to read,’ he added at last.

He managed a false smile. The world was full of people like him, their best days gone, their glories forgotten. All they loved, everything they’d done, nothing more than memories fading like writing in sand, washed away by the tide of time.

‘I’m sorry. It’s not long since I lost her and . . .’ he trailed off, and they stood in awkward silence for a moment.

‘It’s all so overwhelming,’ he added sadly. ‘You take a journey together, and you know everything that starts will have an end, but you can never quite bring yourself to believe it. Somewhere there’s a secret tribe of quiet immortals, right? Some race of souls who never perish. You come to believe you’ll find a way to join them, and you push the end from your mind.’

He took a step forward, and for a moment Harri thought he’d reach out and touch her, but he stopped a pace away and settled on his cane.

‘It was sudden. Heart attack. We never had the chance to say goodbye,’ his voice was cracked with age, but as he spoke of his loss, emotion fractured it further. ‘I couldn’t save her. It was one of those things. I’m so sorry . . .’

His words drifted to nothing, but his eyes stayed on Harri, before shifting away.

‘She was very beautiful, you know? Like you.’

Harri didn’t feel at all beautiful. She’d gained six pounds since her dismissal, and even though she wasn’t overweight, she felt the extra baggage on her normally slight five-foot six-inch frame. She hadn’t been to the salon for months and had her light-brown hair tied in a tail to conceal the tangles and split ends. Her usual wardrobe of suits had been replaced by scruffy trainers, jeans, and T-shirts, and whereas she’d once taken time over her make-up, she could barely muster the enthusiasm for lipstick. She might be many things, but right now beautiful wasn’t one of them.

She thought he was just being polite, so she didn’t thank him for his dishonesty, and grew increasingly uncomfortable in the beat that followed. She could hear the hubbub rising up the stairs, and longed to be part of the crowd. Fate had thrown her in the path of this broken old man, but she didn’t have what it took to fix him. She was just as damaged. Her discomfort must have shown, because his demeanour changed.

‘Listen to me.’ His voice brightened, but his eyes told her the levity was forced. ‘I’m a blathering old fool.’

‘Not at all,’ Harri said automatically. Her mother had raised her to be polite. ‘Death is difficult.’