On Harold’s forty-seventh day of walking, he was joined by a middle-aged woman and a father of two. Kate explained she had recently suffered great pain but wished to leave it behind. She was a small woman, dressed in black, who marched with her chin thrust out and slightly upwards, as if she were struggling to see beyond the brim of a floppy hat. Sweat beaded her hairline, and wet half-moons hung beneath her armpits.

“She’s fat,” said Wilf.

“I don’t think you should say that.”

“She’s still fat.”

The man called himself Rich, short for Richard; surname Lion. He had been in finance but had got out of the business in his mid thirties. Since then, he had been ‘winging it’. Reading about Harold’s journey had filled him with a hope he had not experienced since he was a child. He had packed only a few necessaries and set off. He was a tall man, like Harold, with an assertive voice that had an adenoidal ring. He wore professional boots, camouflage trousers, and a kangaroo-leather bush hat that he had bought online. He carried with him a tent, a sleeping bag and a Swiss Army knife for emergencies.

“To be honest with you,” he confided, “I made a big mess of my life. I got made redundant, and after that I had a bit of a breakdown. My wife left me, and took the kids.” He struck the ground with the sharp blade of his knife. “It’s the boys, Harold. I miss them so much. I want them to see I can do something. You know? I want them to be proud of me. Have you thought about going cross-country?”

As the newly formed party made their way to Leeds, there were discussions about the route. Rich suggested they should avoid cities and make for the moors. Kate felt they should continue along the A61. What did Harold think, they asked? Uncomfortable with conflict, Harold suggested they were both good ideas, as long as they got to Berwick. He had been alone for so long he found it tiring to be constantly in the company of others. Their questions and their enthusiasm both moved and slowed him. But since they had chosen to walk with him and support Queenie’s cause, he also felt responsible for them, as if he had asked them to join, and, as a con sequence, must listen to their different needs and secure their safe passage. Wilf sulked at Harold’s side, hands dug in his pockets, complaining his trainers were too small. Harold had the feeling he used to have with David, wishing he could be more companionable, and fearing that his insecurity might look like arrogance. It took over an hour to find somewhere everyone agreed they’d be comfortable enough to sleep.