We both sat back in our chairs. We were beside a window and there was the blur of yellow and blue—wheat and sky—outside. The sun was coming in at an angle, falling across our table, warming my bare arms and making the butter in the dish liquefy.

The dining car was very neat with its paper-covered tables. A waiter moved along the aisle carrying a pot of coffee and a jug of water to refill empty mugs and glasses. There was the steady thunk thunk of the tracks beneath us and above that the light clink of silverware jostled by the movement. The car smelled of bacon frying, black coffee and the powdery sweet smell of someone wearing too much perfume.

Jim smirked when he saw me glance back at the woman behind me, crinkling my nose.

‘Smells like a Chinese whorehouse,’ he whispered.

I tried to turn my smile into a disapproving look.

‘That’s what one of the sailors used to say whenever he smelled too much perfume. I’ll bet he knew from experience—but don’t worry, I’ve never been in such an establishment.’

‘I wouldn’t care if you had.’

He began to fold his napkin into smaller and smaller squares, and I didn’t want to leave this small rectangle of light, the company of someone who tethered me to my previous world.

‘Tell me more about Virginia,’ I said. ‘Tell me what’s different about Americans. Brynn had this silly pamphlet that was full of advice like “always wear lipstick”. Tell me what I really need to know.’

Jim took the little square of napkin he’d folded and wiped his mouth. The light was behind me, in his eyes a little, and he squinted. ‘Lipstick’s crucial. People’ve been shot for not wearing lipstick.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘No, just be yourself. Don’t try too hard. If they don’t like you for who you are, they’re fools.’

‘Yes, but what do they expect?’

‘You know as well as I do there’s a million answers to that question. Depends on the family. His are probably traditional, Southern. What sort of farm did you say they have?’

‘Tobacco.’

‘Well, wasn’t so long ago their crop was farmed by slaves. So that’s one thing: they’ll believe people are worthy or not worthy depending on the colour of their skin.’

‘And you don’t?’

‘Do you?’

‘No! But you’re from the South too, aren’t you?’

‘That doesn’t mean anything. Hell, I think segregation is terrible. I think negroes should have the same rights we have. But it’s not something you can talk about anywhere, you know? It’s one of those…sensitive things. What does Roy think about it?’