Back he went, towards the barriers, and when he saw schoolchildren he realised it was later than he’d thought and that the day was disappearing. There were about twenty of them, girls and boys – and they were all in green blazers, though some had coats over the top. Three in particular caught his attention, because one was standing on a bench in a striking pose. He had high, sharp cheekbones and startling eyes – he was a warrior. The second was sitting down, without a jacket – and Michael realised it was James. The third was himself.

They didn’t notice him, and he turned away quickly.

His twelve-year-old self was on the bench again, and there was a vending machine close by. Michael stopped and looked back: the boys hadn’t moved, and he knew he had to be quick. He would do something that he had never done before, or even thought about doing – it suddenly seemed like a simple, lovely gift, but he had to be brave. His feet seemed welded to the platform suddenly, and he had thrown himself forwards, overbalancing almost.

‘Sorry!’ he cried, for he’d almost collided with someone. He had to take a step back and start again, focusing on the big metal machine.

He got there, checked that it took both coins and notes. Change was given, but he didn’t want change – with trembling hands he fed one of his three precious twenties into the slot, and then made his selections. He was smiling now, for there they hung: all the chocolate bars you could ever want. He lost count of the items he chose, and they all fell silently into the tray at the bottom. He pressed more buttons and down they came, one after another. They piled up like treasure: twenty pounds’ worth of sweets.

Nobody was watching, but he still lost confidence. He was gripped by a fear that what he was doing would be caught on camera, and that an official somewhere was standing up from his seat in disbelief. There was a man, behaving suspiciously! What was he about to do? He was going to offer sweets to innocent, vulnerable children – the most obvious prelude to something vile.

‘If you come in my car, son, I’ll give you some sweets.’

‘You give me sweets, mate – I’ll cum in your mouth.’

That was a joke from his grammar school.

‘If you come in my car, son…’

It was too late, though – for the machine’s tray was full, and the thought of everything being wasted was as unbearable as the misunderstanding, and the hard eyes of the transport police.

The boys would never forget it. He remembered what it was like, after school. You never had enough money. You never could buy the sweets you needed, and gorge on them – and sometimes you had to gorge. You deserved to after the routine horrors of the day.