“No, no – ” he said.

“After you,” she said.

It was like another collision, and they each retreated back to their drinks. She added milk to her cup but her hand shook again and the whole lot sloshed out in a rush. “Do people often recognize you, Harold?” She sounded like a woman interviewing him for the television.

“What gets me, Maureen, is how nice everyone is.”

“Where did you sleep last night?”

“In a field.”

She shook her head in awe but he must have misunderstood because he said in a rush, “I don’t smell, do I?”

“No, no,” she rushed back.

“I washed in a stream, and then again by a drinking fountain. Only I don’t have soap.” He had already finished his Mars Bar cake and was slicing open the complimentary scone. He ate food so fast he seemed to inhale it.

She said, “I could buy you some soap. I’m sure I passed a Body Shop.”

“Thank you. That’s really kind. But I don’t want to carry too much.”

Maureen felt afresh the shame of not getting it. She longed to show him all her colours, and here she was, a suburban shade of grey. “Oh,” she said, dipping her head. The pain rose, tightening her throat, making it impossible to speak.

His hand passed her a bundled handkerchief, and Maureen nipped her face into its crumpled warmth. It smelt of him, and long ago. It was no good. The tears came.

“It’s just seeing you again,” she said. “You look so well.”

“You look well too, Maureen.”

“I don’t, Harold. I look like someone left behind.”

She wiped her face, but tears were still leaking between her fingers. She was sure the girl at the counter must be looking, and the shoppers, and the ladies without their husbands. Let them. Let them all stare.

“I miss you, Harold. I wish you would come home.” She waited with her blood thumping up and down her veins.

At last Harold rubbed his head, as if he had an ache there or something he needed to dislodge. “You miss me?”

“Yes.”

“You wish I would come home?”

She nodded. It was too much to repeat it. Harold scratched his head again and then lifted his gaze to hers. She felt her insides pick up and spring over and over.

He said slowly, “I miss you too. But Maureen, I’ve spent my life not doing anything. And now at last I am doing something. I have to finish my walk. Queenie is waiting. She believes in me. You see?”

“Well yes,” she said. “I do see that. Of course I see it.” She took a sip of tea. It was cold. “I just – I’m sorry, Harold – I don’t see where I fit in. I know you’re a pilgrim now and everything. But I can’t help thinking about myself. I’m not as selfless as you. I’m sorry.”