Half an hour later she left for work, dressed for an expedition to the South Pole. It was sunny and so bitterly cold that her fingers immediately turned numb.

Deciding to walk to Karlsplatz and get the underground from there, she set off at a brisk pace to get warm. Some of the people she passed were trying to warm themselves on takeaway coffee cups, but most of them scurried by with hunched shoulders. Several had scarves wound around their mouths and noses, making them look strangely creepy, almost faceless.

Norah passed the Volkstheater. A big banner strung across the front of the building read: Don’t forget: if you can touch it, it can also touch you. In the underground station, she took the juddering escalator down, down into the bowels of the earth and caught her train.

Over coffee, the man in her bed had told her he was studying sport; then it had been time for her to go to work and she’d thrown him out. She had no idea what had induced her to bring him home, but it could have been worse: he was quite cute and made no trouble about leaving. ‘You’ve got my number,’ he’d said, after giving her a sleepy kiss on the cheek and thanking her politely for the coffee, and she’d nodded, without knowing what he was talking about.

The train wobbled along under the city and Norah gingerly felt her tooth with her tongue. She wasn’t in real pain, but she was glad to have got an appointment so quickly.

The straps swung back and forth on either side of the carriage, performing a minimalist ballet—left, right, left, right, left, right. People stared mutely at their phones, or books, or hands, or out of the window—not that there was anything to see except underground shafts, endless-seeming streaks of black and grey. How old was the Vienna underground? What stories did it have to tell? Was there enough material for a feature? Norah reached for her phone to do a bit of spontaneous internet research, then remembered that she didn’t have it. The train stopped and she threw a panicked glance out of the window, but it was only another station. A group of teenagers got on, along with a young, heavily pregnant woman, who was holding a little boy of six or seven by the hand; the woman and the boy sat down opposite Norah. The train started up again and Norah closed her eyes. When she opened them, the little boy was staring at her.

‘Hello,’ she said, with an attempt at a smile. ‘You all right?’

The boy didn’t answer or smile back—just looked at her with big eyes. She glanced at his mother who stared back blankly. Norah shrugged and was about to turn away when the boy mumbled something.

‘Sorry?’

The boy said nothing.

‘What did you say?’ Norah asked.

No reply.

‘Leave him, won’t you?’ his mother said.

‘It’s all right,’ said Norah. ‘I’m sorry.’ She got up, glad that they were drawing into the station where she had to change trains.