She nodded, and went back to her book. He was about to say, ‘Sherbet lemons, eh?’ when he managed to stop himself, and thought instead about Mr Moorhouse, who’d been questioned by the police about something. The 10.23 was not crowded, so he got up carefully, and moved down the carriage. Why had he sat opposite the director of human resources? He could have found a seat on his own, and sat with James.

He went through the connecting doors, and felt even more foolish: there were several tables that were completely unoccupied. He could sit facing the direction of travel, with no neighbours at all: he had all four places to himself, and he wished he had a jigsaw puzzle to spread out, or a deck of cards. Did he want a drink now? No, though he ought to have one. Instead of getting drunk he simply sat and remembered Steve and then Linda, and then Elizabeth, staring at his ghost-self in the reflection as he thought about all the other people who inevitably got involved in his sacking. A disciplinary hearing was just like the fuss at school, for once you start the process everyone gets on board and nobody can stop it. The head of year gets involved, and comes round to see your parents: that makes things better, temporarily, and you are – for a moment – important. Not that he had reported Mr Trace: no, the head of year had come round because he was making so little academic progress, and might have to drop two subjects. Had he been unravelling, even then? By that time, Mr Trace hadn’t been teaching him.

‘I forgot all about him,’ he said.