It got worse, because she wasn’t insured. Someone could use the cards, and she might be liable. The phone she’d lost was a cheap one, but it held all her contacts and it wasn’t backed up. How much cash had she been carrying? A hundred pounds at least, because she’d used the ATM just outside the station. As for the tablet, it was the tool she used most to keep in touch with family. It was laden with photographs and videos, and there was the dongle that went with it. As for the passport, she didn’t want to think about it because that was simply priceless.

She struggled to breathe. The tablet could be replaced, but the passport was the thing you didn’t lose – almost as precious as life. It was the product of countless hours in labyrinthine queues designed to crush your very soul: you inched through them, working out what bribes you could avoid and what bribes you’d have to pay. Inside was her work visa. She could get a duplicate, probably, but at what cost and with what complications? How long would it take? Her husband would be too angry to speak, as would her sister! ‘We’re supposed to be saving money,’ they’d say. There would be no sympathy because in the end this was something you just didn’t do: you had to be truly, truly stupid to do it. You did not leave your life on a train.

She closed her eyes, unable to move. People moved round her, but she didn’t notice them. Lost property was never returned, and her bag would be with someone else already. Why would it be handed in when it could more easily be slipped over the passenger’s shoulder, and taken home? If the woman with the guitar had picked it up, nobody would challenge her. Of course, she might be honest and alert the train crew, but there was every chance they’d have a scheme of their own for dividing up the spoils, and even if they were honest, and took it to the right desk how long would it take to get back to her? Where would she have to go to claim whatever was left? The train was going way down south to London.

A man in uniform was standing some way off, and she managed to take a few steps towards him. More people overtook her, crossing from right to left and left to right – for a moment she wondered if she’d ever reach him, and he was helping somebody else anyway. He was laughing, as if the world was a funny, entertaining place. The customer was laughing too.

‘Yes, love?’ he said, turning towards her.

She said, ‘I’ve left something on the train.’

Her voice had changed.

‘Which one?’ said the man. ‘The one to Euston?’

‘Yes. The one that just left.’

‘Something valuable?’