‘Oh, come on. Sexism goes on from the top to the bottom.’

And then I made the mistake of continuing. Of trying to accept the truth of what she said only in part, of arguing the case of men who were killing themselves in increasing numbers because of what little there was left for them. Of suggesting that not everyone who votes for Farage is a malevolent racist.

‘Really?’ said Rochi.

‘I know it might seem—’

‘What’s interesting to me is the way you want to sideline any discussion of gender privilege,’ said Sophie. ‘We see men do this all the time.’

‘Just like I see expensively educated women and people of… God, listen to me.’

‘Wow,’ said Rochi.

‘Who do you think has it worse among the poor white people you think I’m unaware of? The men or the women?’ said Sophie. ‘Do you know that’s where the gender pay gap is most pronounced?’

‘I believe it.’ I took a deep breath. It didn’t work. ‘Though sometimes it’s danger money for the men. My friend’s dad lost the fingers on one of his hands working on a rig.’

‘You’ve got an exception for everything. Why aren’t women allowed to do those dangerous jobs? What about male on female violence being statistically high in poor communities?’

‘And then his son, my friend, died of an overdose.’

‘Oh, look, I’m sorry, that sounds awful. Where is this place, anyway?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not saying that—’

‘It really does matter. If you’re going to refer to individual cases you should state the circum—’

*

I threw my cigarette out into the street and rushed back into the shop. Amy was explaining something to Andrew, who had his hands raised in surrender. I asked a bookseller if I could use their toilet and she showed me to the back of the shop. In the little plywood cubicle, I took off my glasses and put them on the cistern, and I let myself break down. It happened from time to time. A wave crashing down, delicious and terrible. Nothing profound, I thought, just indulgent. I’d invoked Carl to make me more authentic, more miserable, than them. This wasn’t suffering as much as congestion and once I’d blown my nose I felt steadier. I washed my face, dried it with my T-shirt when I couldn’t find a towel, put my glasses back on and went downstairs.

Amy was on her own now. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Your eyes are red and your T-shirt’s wet.’

‘Hay fever.’

‘Do you want an antihistamine?’

‘I’ve just taken one. Do you have anything stronger?’

‘Are you serious?’ She patted her stomach.

‘Good point.’

‘How’s the job search going?’