‘No. I’m just selfish, and selfish people talk about themselves… and fail to look up. We just look down all the time. Can I tell you where I was going, before I followed you?’

‘Where?’

‘Up to the Highlands. Scotland. I was looking for a railway track… a station, actually. It was going to be Crewe, but I changed my plan.’

He licked his lips.

‘Go on,’ said Maria.

‘I went to the Highlands, years ago. Have you ever had a malt whisky?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you drink?’

‘Of course. What do you mean?’

‘Look at this. Wait.’

He had slipped the juice carton into his bag at the last moment. He hadn’t imagined drinking liquor in the course of the walk, but the hotel manager had said they were in for changeable weather. He’d thought it might be wise to have something warming, and as he retrieved it Percy’s grandparents came to his mind. For a moment he expected to see them, but the idea of those two elderly people hauling themselves along the ridge in their expensive clothes was so ludicrous it made him smile. He was safe from them here, and from all the others. As for the cup he and Maria had used for tea, it was now empty, so he poured a small measure and let her smell it.

‘Brandy,’ she said.

‘Malt whisky.’

‘You drink this?’

‘Sometimes. And it might keep the cold out. It might give us a boost.’

‘My husband likes whisky. He drinks too much.’

‘Do you love him?’

‘No.’

‘What?’

She laughed.

‘Michael, of course I do! What kind of question is that? He is… better than me, so that makes me angry sometimes.’

‘How is he better?’

‘In every way.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘You must meet him, then. He’s so patient.’

‘Is he an angel?’

She looked at him.

‘I ask the same question,’ she said. ‘Sometimes. And I think the answer is yes. He drinks, like I say – but all that means is maybe angels need to drink from time to time. You believe in God?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, please… you must do. How can you not?’

‘I can’t, and… Maria. I can’t imagine anything nicer than this. Drinking this with you, in this place – so let’s not talk about God. We’ll only fight.’

‘He’s looking after you now.’

‘He’s not.’

‘He’s watching you.’

‘I wish he was. I wish he existed, and I… I’m glad you think he does. I would never dream of trying to take him away from you.’

‘Okay. We’ll drink to my God and get drunk.’

‘You get drunk. I’ll carry you back.’

‘I don’t get drunk. Except – that’s not true…’

She thought about it.

‘I got drunk six days ago. And I have told… nobody.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No.’

‘You’ll feel better.’

She smiled at him.