Harold assured her it wasn’t, but to his horror the room was silent again.

The second woman was altogether plumper, with a string of round pearls at her neck. “We have a terrible habit of listening to other people’s conversations,” she said. She laughed.

“We really shouldn’t,” they said to the guests in general. They spoke with the same cut-glass loud accent Maureen’s mother had used. Harold found himself squinting in an effort to find the vowels.

“I think a hot-air balloon,” said one.

“I think a wild swim,” said the other.

Everyone looked expectantly at Harold. He took a deep breath. If he heard the sound of the words coming from his mouth enough times, maybe he would feel like the sort of person who could get up and do something about them.

“I am walking,” he said. “I am walking to Berwick-upon-Tweed.”

“Berwick-upon-Tweed?” said the tall lady.

“That must be about five hundred miles,” said her companion.

Harold had no idea. He had not yet dared to work it out. “Yes,” he agreed, “although it’s probably more if you are hoping to avoid the M5.” He reached for his teacup and failed to pick it up.

The family man in the corner glanced towards the businessman and his lips buckled into a grin. Harold wished he hadn’t seen but he had; and they were right, of course. He was ridiculous. Old people should retire and sit at home.

“Have you been training for long?” said the tall lady.

The businessman folded over his newspaper, and leaned forward, waiting for the reply. Harold wondered if he could lie, but knew in his heart he wouldn’t. He also felt that the women’s kindness was somehow making him more pitiful, so that instead of feeling certain he felt only shame.

“I’m not a walker. It’s more a spur of the moment decision. A thing I must do for someone else. She has cancer.”

The younger hotel faces stared, as if he had broken into a foreign language.

“Do you mean a religious walk?” said the plump lady helpfully. “A pilgrimage?”

She turned to her friend, who quietly began to sing ‘He Who Would Valiant Be’. Her voice rose, pure and certain, while her slim face pinkened. Again, Harold wasn’t sure if it was for the benefit of the room in general or her friend; but it seemed rude to interrupt. She fell silent and smiled. Harold smiled too, but this was because he had no idea what to say next.

“So she knows you’re walking?” said the family man in the far corner. He wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and his arms and chest sprouted curls of dark hair. He leaned back expansively, rocking on the back legs of his chair, the way Maureen used to reprimand David for doing. You could feel his doubt all the way across the breakfast lounge.

“I left a telephone message. I also sent a letter.”

“That’s all?”

“There wasn’t much time for anything else.”