It was the choral society’s fault, really. Clubs and societies often brought people together: it was what they were for. Neither he nor Amy had a passion for church music – so that was something shared. They shared a readiness to enter the hideous drill hall where practices took place. What else did they share? They shared a dislike of the paper cups in which the tea was served. They shared an ability to tread the long, meandering path of aimless conversation – it was like an escalator that went on and on until you’d lost sight of your destination and point of origin. Yes, he and Amy had found themselves chatting, and that led to their meeting for a proper coffee, and that led to some weak magnet of attraction or need stirring in each of them – some soft bleep as the magnetic fields engaged. Why not see where the connection led?

But he had no affection for Charlie, because she was a stranger.

‘Pardon?’ he’d say.

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

He tried to be interested in her – the A levels she’d chosen were dance, hotel management and something he couldn’t now remember, and she didn’t want to talk about why she had chosen those subjects, so he felt silly for asking about them. He’d get to the end of some idiotic, rambling question, and she’d be gone. The door would be swinging shut, her grunted answer only half-heard again. That was fine, of course: she didn’t want to discuss her life with Michael, and it was her home so why should she?

Michael found he was shaking his head, so he sipped his whisky again.

A ticket inspector went by, hurrying into the compartment he’d recently left. Perhaps Terry was having another heart attack? The doors closed automatically, and Charlie was back, pushing past him with a heavy suitcase he had to step aside to avoid. He would have liked a moment of connection with her, and they should have found one. They should have come across a stray kitten together, or a bird with a broken wing. Amy’s house had a garden, so there was every chance her cat would have caught a bird and left it mortally injured on the patio. Charlie might have been amazed by his patience, and he would have been touched by the purity of her compassion, which would have turned her back into a child. They would have set the bird on the rockery, and watched it recover and take flight.

It took her a very long time to put on make-up, and one of Michael’s agonies was the thought of seeing her half dressed as she emerged from the bathroom – he lived in fear of an accusation or a scream. He had visions of neighbours gathering outside as Amy held Charlie and tried to stop her sobbing.

‘He was waiting for me! He won’t stop looking at me!’