It was Paul’s stare that was affecting her, so she looked away and saw that they were going over a level crossing, and one vehicle had stopped at the barrier. Ironically, it was a large lorry, the irony being that Kristin had been killed by a large lorry. ‘Killed’ was the wrong word, and she should not have used it. The lorry had not set out to do anything bad, and the driver was innocent. The driver had never driven again, so she’d been told – he’d given up his Heavy Goods Vehicle Class One licence, and the firm had found him a job in the warehouse. He wouldn’t even drive a car. He had come to the funeral, and he hadn’t been able to speak. Nor had she. Nor had her parents. Around the white coffin and the flowers there had been a paralysis that locked the tongue and made your legs heavy.

Thirteen years of life had stopped, and the body was ready now for what nobody could disguise, though they tried. A big, deep hole had been dug, and there was soil standing by. Take him, earth, for cherishing: the white wood must rot away in time, and the cold clay must get to him in the end and soak through the jeans, T-shirt and fleece they’d chosen for this, his final, final outing.

Paul was leaning forward.

She thought he was about to touch her, but he didn’t. He said softly, ‘I’m a stranger. I didn’t mean to intrude, but… sometimes you find that strangers help.’

‘Really?’

‘Maybe. Sudden encounters, you know—’

‘You mean we’ve been brought together? By God?’

‘No.’

She had attacked him, but he was ready for it. He had been in this situation before: God did direct him into these little conflicts, perhaps, so that he might bring healing.

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ he said. ‘But I would say—’

‘Maybe God is trying to help me,’ said Ayesha. ‘By putting us together like this.’

‘Look,’ said Paul quietly.

He paused.

‘I don’t have any right to ask you about private, painful experiences… and losing a brother must be one of the most painful.’

‘He was thirteen. Eight years younger than me.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Kristin.’

Paul said nothing for a moment, letting the silence convey his absolute, limitless sympathy. The train hummed, and Ayesha hesitated, wondering if she had the energy to attack him properly. She realised it would be the best way of stemming the tears, which were there in her eyes, ready to flow. The clergyman had seen them.

She smiled, and said something she’d often thought.

‘I wish God had helped us on the day he died,’ she said.

He looked back at her, waiting.