‘You’re right,’ Cort said, surprising him, ‘I shouldn’t be so glib. I’m sorry.’

They sat there for a moment, saying nothing else. There was a crack of raucous laughter from the bar. He’d never known his colleague to be so contrite or tongue-tied. He wondered if the things that he’d disliked about Cort all this time – his bluster and immodesty – were symptoms of another type. Perhaps Fred Cort was no more certain of himself than he was. Perhaps he wasn’t like the rest of them at all. ‘I’ll tell you what, though, Fred,’ he offered as a consolation, ‘even if they’re cheap, I never share them.’ Then he put his nearly empty packet on the table. ‘Go on. Seeing as we’re not in competition. Have one.’

Cort scratched his chin, amused. ‘All right. Might as well.’

He watched him take a Woodbine, light it, have a puff. All the while, he weighed the prospect in his mind: that he could let somebody get to know him for a change. That he could sacrifice a measure of control to ease some of his loneliness. Why not take a reading of Cort’s goodness here and now, as it was just the two of them? Survey the ground a bit before he trusted it to build on. Why not try? He couldn’t keep on shrugging people off in case they disappointed him.

‘You know,’ he said, as plainly as he could, ‘I started smoking these in borstal. Actually, it would’ve been before we got there. We were held for a few days at Wandsworth nick, just in the sorting station, and a lad there offered one to me while we were lining up. I thought the same as you did now: Go on, might as well. I’d never smoked before, but I’ve been faithful to them ever since. Old habits and all that.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Cort said, exhaling. His eyes had gone quite rheumy with the smoke. ‘I never knew you were in borstal.’

‘Yes, two years at Feltham.’ He was going to have to hold the reins of conversation tightly now and stop them veering off into the gloom. ‘Please don’t spread it round the office, mind.’

‘Of course I won’t. What did you do?’

‘Held up a cargo train,’ he said.

‘Good heavens. Really?’

‘No. What do you take me for?’ He saw Cort’s face relax again. ‘They caught me with some stolen goods, that’s all – about ten crates of pipe tobacco.’

‘Why? What made you do it?’

‘Circumstances. I was hungry and I had to. There’s a story, but I’d rather keep it to myself.’

‘This happened up in Liverpool?’

‘Yes, but a long time ago. You’ll want to knock the ash off that. They burn up quicker than you think.’

‘Oh, blast.’ Cort rubbed a big grey streak into his trousers. He was not a seasoned smoker. ‘Well, it can’t have been that long ago. We must be the same age – at least, I thought we were. I’m twenty-four. How old are you?’