That would be their explanation of the awkwardness: that the man beside them was an alcoholic, and alcoholics were by their nature embarrassing. They would not think of him again, because Percy was coming to supper – they had a table for three booked in some very nice restaurant, probably an Italian. Boys liked pizza, or Michael had. It had always been such a treat. Percy would arrive, flushed from his exertions on the rugby pitch, a picture of wild-eyed health – like James, in fact. His hair would be mussed from a quick shower, and he hadn’t had time to dry it. He would be young enough to embrace his gran and kiss her, and he would probably hold his grandfather too – what did it matter, who hugged who? James would bring a friend, perhaps – like young Michael – and they would sit at the table together, laughing. They would be teasing each other – Percy-James and Michael, together – as they chose their different toppings; in jeans and casual sweatshirts, or perhaps not? Perhaps they had dressed up for the occasion, and looked grown up in neatly pressed long-sleeved shirts and ties, their collars fastened properly by Mr Trace, who couldn’t stand an untidy boy and would always touch the soft part of your throat, fastening the top button.

‘That’s better,’ he’d say, stroking your neck. ‘Come and find me at lunchtime. Have your lunch, and we’ll talk.’

Jackets on, despite the heat. The boys had dressed up, because it wasn’t an Italian restaurant at all, it was Settle’s finest celebrity-chef bistro, popular with the rich and famous. He could hear their laughter, and the landscape was woodland, with farmers’ fields in between and a sudden rush of white flowers, close to the train. He, Michael, was having a little bit of a problem but they hadn’t felt able to ask him what that was, for fear that he would tell them – and it wasn’t their concern.

Into a tunnel they went, and it was surprisingly long. Would they ever, ever come out or were they going slowly deeper into solid earth? Might they just possibly run deep into the thick, gooey clay and slow down and down and down as the tunnel roof got lower and the wheels clogged… might they be entombed for ever?

One thing was clear: they would never be friends.

What did he want them to do, these poor fellow travellers? And out they rushed, into a new world where everyone could breathe again for there were houses, with long gardens and sheds. What did he want? Did he want a dinner invitation?

‘Don’t leave us, Michael! You must meet Percy! Why not? A table for four!’

What then?

‘No, stay the night! We’re just getting to know you!’