Michael entered and stood beside the carousel.

The bags were appearing, one after another, and in a short while he saw his own.

He picked it up and checked his instructions. They were printed in a large, clear font, because he didn’t want to go wrong at this crucial stage:

Go through customs, out of the building – walk across the road past the yellow taxis, go past the hotel meeting point, the way goes left and right: GO TO THE RIGHT!!

He did as he was told, handing a form to the man at the customs desk. He turned left past a line of banks, where a young woman urged him to take an airport limousine.

‘No, thank you,’ he said – and the woman smiled at him.

‘Where are you going?’ she said.

‘I don’t really know,’ replied Michael. ‘I’m meeting someone, I think.’

‘Mabuhay. Welcome to the Philippines.’

He stood still and looked at her. She seemed completely sincere.

‘Thank you,’ he said and moved on.

A pair of glass doors opened onto a dark roadway, and he felt damp heat. It was nearly midnight, local time, and the air was unnaturally warm. He was frightened now, for he was leaving the protected zone and the world was suddenly full of crawling taxis. They were yellow, and their engines were reverberating: the road was actually a concrete tunnel, and he could hear the constant squeal of tyres. Ahead, he saw the hotel meeting point, so he crossed with the crowd. His new manager had asked him where he was going.

‘Somewhere nice?’ she said. ‘Winter sun?’

He’d told her that he wasn’t sure, and that he had no definite plans. It was a lie, but he hadn’t wanted anyone to know the truth: the trip felt like a private adventure, and he couldn’t believe it would actually happen. He couldn’t even imagine getting to Heathrow airport, and the idea that you could simply sit in a succession of seats, and end up on the other side of the world – that seemed absurd.

So much had changed.

He had lost his flat, because his polite appeals for more time had fallen on deaf ears. He’d given in to a compromise: repossession was avoided, but he’d had to sell quickly and take the first serious offer. Now he had a new doctor, and was on a waiting list to see a counsellor. He worked in a supermarket, and his job was not so different from the DIY centre: he unloaded stock and shelved it. He took turns on the tills, and had completed a short course that allowed him to supervise the self-service area.

He emailed Maria and Jao every week.