‘Are you still serving food?’ I asked her.

‘The chef’s gone home. I could give you a sandwich, if you want.’

‘OK.’

‘Bacon?’

‘OK.’

‘But we close in a few minutes.’

‘Right.’

The bread was stale. The bacon was tough, fatty and cold and bits stuck in my teeth. The woman turned chairs upside-down on tables and swept crumbs up round my feet. The man with greasy hair shuffled out. When I had my money, I would go to smart restaurants with clean windows and polished tables where waiters in dark suits would fill my wine glass and bend respectfully over me, calling me ‘sir’. I chewed a few small mouthfuls very slowly, not hungry in the slightest but marking time, then ordered a coffee, though I didn’t need it to keep me awake. I was already wide awake, fully charged. The next twenty-four hours lay in front of me like a road, clear and straight. I felt the spanner in my pocket. I checked my mobile to make sure it had enough battery. There were several missed calls from Melanie, but I ignored them.

At a little after one, the waitress slouched over to the door, turned the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and asked me to leave.

I walked. Past queues outside nightclubs, past a group of drunken men in suits, past down-and-outs in doorways strewn with cigarette butts. Down to the river. I sat on a bench and looked at my watch. It was three o’clock. In two hours or so it would be light. I closed my eyes and went through everything in my mind. When I opened them, it was half past five and there was light on the horizon. I had no notion that any time had gone by and no memories of dreaming, but I supposed I must have slept. I stood up and stretched. I made sure all the buttons on my shirt were done up, took a comb out of my breast pocket and neatened my hair. Then I walked back the way I’d come. At twenty past seven, I stopped in a café and ordered a cup of tea, but I could only manage a few sips. My insides were burning. I bought freshmint chewing-gum from a newsagent: that would have to do this morning in the place of cleaning my teeth. I bought a bottle of water as well, and rinsed my mouth. I felt like a runner waiting to take his place on the starting blocks.

At half past eight, I went to a public pay phone, used my mobile to remind me of Astrid’s number and punched it in.

‘Hello?’

‘Astrid! Did I wake you up?’

‘Is that you, Davy?’

‘Yes. My mobile’s packed up and I’m in a phone booth.’

‘I’ve been awake for ages.’

‘Me too. Listen, I know we’re meeting later with everyone, but I was really hoping I could come and see you beforehand. There’s something I think you should know.’

I thought at least she’d ask me to explain, and I had my answer ready, but she didn’t. Her voice was warm, natural. ‘That’d be fine. Why don’t you come here at – what? Ten, ten thirty? Then we can go on to Maitland Road together.’

‘Great. You’d better tell me where “here” is, though.’ If she was with a friend, I’d have to change plans.

‘Oh, sorry.’ She gave an odd little snort. ‘I’m staying at my friend Saul’s – you met him a couple of times. I’m feeding his cat and watering his plants for the next few weeks while he’s away. Sorry. Too much information. It’s Capulet Road, just off Stoke Newington Church Street. Number sixty-six A.’

It was so typical that it made me smile. I had spent a night wandering the streets while Astrid had already found somewhere to stay, with plants and a cat. I’d never become part of the world where people did things like that and knew other people who did it too.

I walked to Stoke Newington. It was just a couple of miles and it cleared my head. When I got to the main street, I went into a rather cool shop selling men’s clothes and bought myself a new shirt. It was an olive-green colour and smelled cottony and clean. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. I was pleased with the slim young man with honest grey eyes in a fresh face, and – I leaned forward and smiled at my reflection – oh, yes, a modest and endearing smile that said, ‘You can trust me, you can lean on me, you can tell me what’s troubling you. I won’t let you down’. I wouldn’t let myself down. I’d come this far and I was on the last leg of my journey.

At ten minutes to ten I turned off Stoke Newington Church Street and down Capulet Road. I passed sixty-six A but it was too early; I didn’t look up but kept on walking. At three minutes to ten, I halted and put the last two sticks of chewing-gum into my mouth, chewed them vigorously, then spat them out on to the pavement. Then I went back up Capulet Road. I got to number sixty-six, a little cobbler’s that looked like something out of medieval times. The dark blue door to the left said ‘66a’, in gold. I stood in front of it for a few seconds. I straightened my jacket over my shirt. I took some deep breaths. I ran my fingers through my hair. I licked my lips, arranged my expression. And then I rang the bell.

It was only a few seconds before I heard the unmistakable sound of Astrid’s footsteps running down the stairs: light and quick. She pulled open the door. Her feet were bare and she was wearing faded jeans and a high-necked green cardigan that was short enough to show a strip of her tanned stomach. We were co-ordinated, I thought, on this day of all days. But there was something different about her and it took me a few moments to understand what it was. She was smiling at me and seemed properly pleased that I was there. Of course, she had always been perfectly friendly and approachable before, but in Maitland Road we had rarely been alone and I had always felt I was on the sidelines of her life. Today it was simply me and her. Nobody had just left and nobody was about to arrive. Her eyes were fixed on mine; her expression was attentive. She put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me, first on one cheek, then the other. ‘Hello, Davy,’ she said. ‘I’m really glad you’re here. I’ve been feeling so cast down about everything.’

She didn’t look cast down. Her face glowed with health and life. Her dark hair shone and her lips were glossy. She smelled of lemon and roses.

‘Of course you have,’ I said, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind me. I followed her up the stairs. The tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck were still damp; she must be fresh from a shower, I thought. Her back was slender. She led me into a room that served as kitchen and living room. It was all a bit higgledy-piggledy and cluttered. There were geraniums in the window box, and a ginger cat lay curled up and purring on the baggy corduroy sofa. It opened one yellow eye, examined me, then shut it again.

Astrid looked at me with concern. ‘Where did you spend the night?’

I mumbled something about staying at a friend’s.

‘You look terrible.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘I was wondering if you’d like a shower or something.’

‘I already had one.’

She laughed. ‘It wasn’t an accusation. Sit down. Try to ignore Saul’s mess.’ She hurled a coat and a bag off the sofa. ‘Coffee? Tea? Juice? I think there’s juice, anyway, I haven’t really examined the fridge yet.’

‘Coffee.’ I wanted to prolong the moment; watch her as she served me, watch the way her cardigan tightened over her breasts as she reached up for cups.

‘A small amount of milk and no sugar, right?’

‘You remember.’

‘Of course.’ She smiled at me and I felt my throat thicken with desire.

‘How long are you staying here for?’

‘I don’t know. A fortnight at least. I can’t see beyond that. I’ve no idea what I’ll do next. Maybe I should grow up and try to sort out my life. What do you think?’

‘Think?’

‘About what I should do next.’

I stared at her, memorizing every detail of her face. ‘I don’t think you should plan beyond the next few minutes at the moment, Astrid.’

She turned away and shovelled several spoonfuls of ground coffee into a cafetière and poured in boiling water, stirring vigorously. ‘This might be a bit strong.’