Nobody would ever pick it up, so Michael did for a little while. His street was dominated by rows of bins, and the people he saw wore clothes that were fading before his eyes. It was as if his eyesight was getting dim, or failing to register colour. Vivienne, who lived opposite and had the troublesome blind – she was so pale she looked bloodless.

Was it the food, or the lack of exercise, or simply the lack of sun? Was it deeper than that? Was it lack of hope? He was surrounded by the unemployed, unemployable working class that didn’t work, and he fitted in so neatly. The broken class, and he’d used the last of his money to buy his very own one-bedroomed box right in its weedy heart.

He should have bought bunting, and cheered it up. He should have bought a second-hand guitar, and filled the world with music. Pots of paint, balloons – flowers and seeds… He could have made it work. Instead, he cowered in his sitting room, moving in with Amy when he knew it was wrong. He chewed the last segment of his last tangerine, remembering how wrong it had been. Amy had encouraged him: she had been truly wonderful, and had he ever really thanked her? No – he had hurt her. The Do It Yourself store had been her idea, because she’d read an article in the local paper saying it was recruiting. She’d given him the confidence to apply, insisting he needed a new start. She’d poured her energy into him, and through her he’d managed to get onto the store’s training programme: he would be a sales assistant. No buses went out to the retail park, unfortunately, but that didn’t matter because years ago her brother had left a bike in her shed.

‘He’s forgotten about it, Michael. You can fix it up, and cycle.’

She solved the problem, and he repaired the punctures.

He bought new brake blocks, and found the tools he’d used as a boy: the little round spanner, and three-in-one oil. The ride out was hard, and there was no way of avoiding a major dual carriageway. In the wind and rain it was horrendous, but he got there and completed the course. They gave him tough black shoes with safety soles, and green overalls. They gave him five green T-shirts, and after the council job where he’d always worn a collar and tie he felt like someone in a theme park – ‘the elves’, they were called.

He really had started again.