‘We will shortly be arriving in Preston,’ he was told – and he watched the town rolling in, the train easing into its very heart. So much work had gone into the place, and the work would never stop. People came and went, working and serving – designing, building and expanding. Michael stood at the door, but it remained obstinately closed until the guard decided it was safe to disembark. He or she pressed a switch, and the door opened slowly, even as a little step appeared before Michael’s feet. Those waiting to board hung back, allowing him to disembark first: they formed a committee to studiously ignore him as he passed through, and walked towards the iron bridge that would lift him over the rails to all the other platforms.

What if he hadn’t been there? That little crowd would not have had to wait. They would have pressed forwards, three seconds earlier.

He passed a boy standing in a glass tunnel. It was the waiting area, with anti-vandal prison-cell seats – seats you could hose down quickly. The boy was probably younger than Percy, and he appeared to be on his way home from school, late as it was. He was keying something into his phone. A sports bag lay heavy between his feet, and he had a backpack too. Eleven years old, probably, in a too-big blazer: Michael noticed him because once again it was himself, and he’d finished all those sweets. He’d put on a different uniform, too, and the thoughts were spilt – they seemed to hit the ground and smash, and he found he was standing absolutely still with his eyes tight shut, balancing.

The boy wasn’t him, but it might have been James.

He had loved James with the fantastic storybook desire to save him from fires, and be necessary to him. James Seyton, with his effortless grace – did it matter? There were people pushing past, just avoiding him as he stood marooned, for he had liked James so much, and still thought of him as a friend. He had felt the flutter of his heart whenever they met. They had taken the train together, and it didn’t really matter, for the emotions were old now and his love for James had simply been a first tentative outing, like the first small clambering steps that would take him ever higher up the rock face he’d been lost on now for so many years, climbing and clinging, unable to get down. It just didn’t matter, for the tracks were everywhere and a train would come.

But he had joined the Scouts with James.