Harold became aware of a dry sensation in his mouth. He tried not to imagine a glass of water, but now that his head had produced the image, it also conjured the feel and taste of cold liquid in his mouth, and his body grew weak with the need for it. He walked very carefully, trying to stabilize the ground while it tipped beneath his feet. Several cars slowed, but he waved them on, not wanting their attention. Each breath seemed too angular to pass through the cavities of his chest. There was no choice but to stop at the first home he came to. He secured the iron gate and hoped there weren’t dogs.

The bricks of the house were new and grey; the evergreen hedging shaved hard back like a wall. Tulips grew in pert rows in beds that were without weeds. To the side hung a line of washing: several large shirts, trousers, skirts and a woman’s bra. He looked away, not wanting to see things he shouldn’t. As a teenager, he had often gazed at his aunts’ pegged-up corsets, brassieres, support knickers and stockings. It was the first time he had realized the female world held secrets he wanted to know. He rang the doorbell of the house, and leaned against the wall.

When a woman answered, her face dropped. He wanted to reassure her not to worry, but his insides felt stripped. He could barely move his tongue. She hurried to fetch him a drink, and as he took the glass his hands trembled. The iced water broke over his teeth, his gums, the roof of his mouth, and rushed to his throat. He could have cried at the rightness of it.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she said, after she had fetched him a second glass and he had emptied that too. She was a wide woman, wearing a creased dress; childbearing hips, Maureen would have said. Her face was so weathered the skin looked slapped. “Do you need to rest?”

Harold promised he was feeling better. He was eager to get back to the road, and didn’t want to intrude on a stranger. Besides, he felt he had already broken an unspoken English rule in asking for help. To do more would be to align himself with something both transient and unknown. In between the words he sought quick rasping breaths. He assured her he was walking a long way but probably hadn’t got the hang of it yet. He hoped it would raise a smile, but she didn’t seem to see the funny side. It was a long time since he had made a woman laugh.

“Wait here,” she said. Again she disappeared into the stillness of the house, to return with two fold-up chairs. Harold helped her to open them and repeated that he should get going, but she sank her body down as if she too had made a journey, and urged him to join her. “Just for a moment,” she said. “It will do us both good.”