He wouldn’t ever reach Glasgow, let alone the Highlands – that was most definitely off now, because this train wasn’t going to either. Where would he get off? If he got down at the next stop, he could probably make it home – but home wasn’t home, which didn’t matter because… He was luckier than many. Once again, the train was slowing down – had he gone to sleep? The fields had been ploughed up and turned into scrapyards – they were going backwards past a lorry park, where drivers had abandoned dozens of long containers. Haphazard wire fencing had been strung all around them, and the brambles were thriving. Over a bridge they went – over an inky canal, too narrow now for barge traffic. Soon they were amongst carpet warehouses and factory outlet stores, and there were no people to be seen. There were jaunty flags, though, and banners advertising sales: this was his country. This was the country he’d learned to navigate, and was lucky to live in.

His parents had set him on his feet, to toddle into this future.

When they came to the next station, he saw it was busier than the last, and he at once saw Amy with a pushchair, and Ryan from the flat below. There was a girl who resembled his next-door neighbour from childhood, and the old woman could have been his poor, dead mother so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his mouth. The guard told everyone to remove luggage from seats, pointing out that a cancelled train had made this one extra busy. He apologised for that. He was sorry, because he knew everyone’s journey was being inconvenienced – but he was powerless. What could he do? He sounded like a nice young man, who genuinely cared – if he’d had the power to pull a few extra carriages from the sidings and bolt them on, he would have done so. His Northern voice was polite and genuine: Michael knew that if he communicated all his problems to such a man, the man would listen. He’d clasp his shoulder, and say with absolute sincerity, ‘Let me get you a form, Mike. Do you have access to a computer, Micky? Because you might find it easier to go through our website. You can get up to half your money back, Michael, sir – Sir Michael – if you just lay your burden down.’

Michael smiled.

A man in a brown kurta sat down next to him, studiously avoiding eye contact, his beard and dress announcing the fact that he was Muslim. He had fat, hairy fingers which he used to hold his thighs.

‘Busy,’ said Michael.

‘So busy,’ replied the man softly.

Silence. On they went, backwards. He wanted to hold this man’s hand – it was so much bigger than his own.

‘They cancelled a train,’ he said – his voice working almost normally, except that it had a rasp he didn’t recognise.