Of course he didn’t really want to know. He didn’t want to hear the details – he shouldn’t have asked, and even as he opened his mouth he was full of dread. He was looking harder at the woman, and he saw the brooch she wore, and the necklace, and the ring on her finger. There was nothing ostentatious anywhere, but it all sent the subtle signal of good taste and Southern wealth. How much would an off-plan flat in Settle cost? A lot, obviously – but they could afford it because they both had pensions, and his had been the climax to some well-paid business-orientated job, and he’d probably retired with stocks and shares and a whole investment portfolio that generated thousands of pounds. Why weren’t they travelling first class? Small economies, or maybe the train had no first-class facilities – or maybe it was in the hope of meeting ordinary, down-to-earth people like him. Perhaps a friendship was about to be born after all, that would last until death. Michael would speak at both their funerals, or they would speak at his.

He reached for his juice carton.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

He had missed something, and he nearly belched.

‘We have a grandson,’ said the woman again. ‘He’s at Giggleswick.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just started.’

‘Giggleswick?’

There was a school at Giggleswick – he’d heard of it for some reason. But was it in Settle?

‘Giggleswick,’ he said again. ‘I know the name.’

‘He finished his first year this year,’ said the woman. ‘He’s just starting GCSEs.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Michael. ‘Is the school close by?’

‘It’s in Giggleswick, yes.’

‘Is that a place?’

‘Yes.’

‘A town?’

‘Yes. A village, really. Two miles or so from Settle.’

‘Oh! So you’ll be on hand to… what? Look after him.’

‘Oh, his housemaster does that,’ said the man. ‘We’ll be lucky to see him.’

Michael produced his glass, and poured himself a measure of whisky. The liquid didn’t bear any resemblance to apple juice, especially in such a small quantity. It came out of the carton differently to juice, and the fumes suddenly seemed so strong they might be flammable. If someone lit a match the glass would fill with fire, and when he put it to his lips it did feel savagely hot. He knew he was sweating, and when he breathed out he knew his breath was toxic. The mint was now in the way of his tongue, so he removed it and put it on the table, where it sat like a small, white pebble.

‘Giggleswick,’ he said quietly.

‘He’s a boarder,’ said the woman. ‘Absolutely loves it.’

‘Is it a boarding school?’

There was a fractional pause.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

‘So he lives there, really? That’s his home.’

Michael was aware of the burning round his gums.