‘I don’t think it’s easy to change this subject,’ she replied.

‘No. But I think we should.’

‘Why?’

He shook his head, but he couldn’t think of an answer.

‘I think you are very upset by it,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be so stupid – it is obvious that you are very, very upset by it, Michael.’

‘Yes, but everyone has their cross to bear.’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘I was eleven years old. You’d think I’d have got over it by now. I told one other person, once. I told this boy who’d been in my class at the same time, though we’d never been friends. This was fifteen or twenty years ago. We met up and the subject came up – good old Mr Trace. What did he do to you? Horrible man, he loved touching your arse under your blazer – any excuse to slap your arse. You dropped a pen, you got a word wrong, or the ending wrong… “Come out here! That has to be paid for…” And everyone laughing. So I… I told him. Not about the sucking, but the holding his… you know what. We’d had a few drinks, and he couldn’t believe it. He thought I was making it up at first – I said, “Loads of us did. Didn’t you?”’

‘“No,” he said. “Never.” I said, “You must have. People joked about it.” “Never,” he said. So… maybe it wasn’t as many as I thought – who knows? Then he said I should tell the police. That’s what he said to me.’

He paused.

‘Did you?’ said Maria.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine what good it would do. Mr Trace would have been an old man, if he was even alive. I thought, Do I want revenge? No. Do I want my day in court, so I can talk about it? No, I do not. Am I so scandalised by him, and what he got away with? Am I looking for compensation? Like I said, Maria… I just feel pure, sad pity for the old sod, the old… twisted-up, sad sod who probably spent his own childhood being played around with and… fucked. Sorry.’

Michael paused.

‘You just pass it on, don’t you? But what I really feel is… why can’t I forget about it? That’s what I’d do, if I could – I wouldn’t go to the police. I’d have it burned out of me, like you can have your eyes corrected these days by a laser. I’d get them to just burn that memory out, and… maybe things would adjust. Then, you see – I’m talking too much, aren’t I?’

‘No.’

‘I am. You didn’t come out on this walk to listen to this.’

He laughed.