The dental plate shifted again, and now Michael noticed his hands and how bony they were. He was hunched forward, holding his gadget in both, and he was a little breathless. Michael stood, unable to move, for the train on the screen was still chugging silently along past houses, and he didn’t want to be like the man’s uninterested great-grandson. On the other hand, he could feel a speech coming, which he knew almost by heart because he had heard it before – or some variation. The man was about to list more of the things young people found more interesting than trains, and they would all be electronic things. The man would laugh in wonder as if the laugh could make the terrifying new world harmless. Yes, he could use a tablet, but he had still become unnecessary. Technology wasn’t interested in him, for he just wasn’t the market: his market was stair-lifts and mobility scooters, and trousers with elastic waistbands. Funeral plans, too.

‘I have to go,’ said Michael.

The man didn’t hear him. Instead, he touched Michael’s arm very gently.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I said to the oldest, the other day, “What’s so important that you’ve got to bring your phone to the tea-table? Who are you talking to?” He said, “I’m texting.” I said, “Why?”’

Michael gazed at him.

‘“Why?” I said. “Stop bloody fiddling! Talk to your gran. Talk to a real person for a change.” If it was up to me, I’d make them turn the damn things off, and leave them at the door. They can’t have a proper conversation any more – not like my generation. In my day, we talked to each other. We communicated.’

‘Yes,’ said Michael.

Had the man finished? There was a sudden silence.

‘They are different,’ said Michael. ‘Things change, I suppose.’

‘Yes. And you try having a conversation with a young person.’

‘I know—’

‘They look scared. They haven’t got the ability to listen, you see. And I don’t think that’s progress. Is it?’

‘What isn’t?’

‘What?’

‘Sorry, what isn’t progress?’

He looked over towards platform seven, and there it stood – long and empty, and impossible to get to. He needed to drink the rest of the whisky, for that’s what he’d planned to do as he walked down onto it. He’d planned to let the liquor hit him hard and fast, and that would be the fuel he needed. The old man talking was holding his sleeve, though, as if he needed to feel the material.

‘All this technology,’ he said. ‘Are we better off for it? That’s what I ask myself, you see – are we better off now, than in my day?’

‘Yes,’ said Michael.

‘It’s not progress, is it?’

‘Yes. I think it is.’

‘How?’