She didn’t say that or anything else, because she had a daughter on her mind, who was probably starting an important job. She might even be getting a foot on the property ladder, though Cheltenham was expensive, of course – and they could have talked all the way north about just how difficult it was. They could have agreed that young people stood little chance these days, without their parents’ help, and they could have laughed indulgently. Michael could have invented a daughter of his own. She’d be in Germany working as a translator, like the god-daughter poor old Monica supported.

The announcement came then, as he knew it must – and it was that wonderfully clear voice again: ‘The train now standing at platform two is the 09.46 for Great Malvern…’

It was not standing at the platform.

The driver was just beginning to brake; the automated information-sequence had started fifteen seconds too early. He’d missed the previous one, but they must have played it – for that was the one that told everyone that the train was approaching. They would have made that claim when there was no train in sight, and Michael had once emailed the company to point it out. His real concern was with the last of the three, which came just as the doors opened: ‘Stand clear of the train at platform two. This train is ready to leave.’

That was the announcement as people disembarked, and it induced not exactly panic but a certain anxiety. For how could the train be ready to leave when there were people on the platform waiting to board? Fifteen seconds later, it would have all made perfect sense: all they had to do was play the first one fifteen seconds later, and everything would be correct.

‘As I get onto the train,’ Michael had said. ‘Or as I wait on the platform, you tell me to stand back. “The train is ready to leave,” you say. The train is not ready to leave, because we’re still getting on and off. I’d like to know if you play the message by mistake, because there’s an error in the timing – or if it’s deliberate. Is it your intention to hurry people? If that’s the case, I understand, but I think it’s impolite. If it’s not the case, please do your best to change the timing.’

The station clock was also wrong, but he hadn’t mentioned that. The lift was often out of order, but he hadn’t mentioned that. The ticket office seemed to be open for fewer hours, but he hadn’t even mentioned that, even though he liked the calm, efficient men who sold tickets and knew their jobs were under threat. One thing at a time, and he had written politely and positively.