Then they kissed; lengthily, disgustingly, pornographically. I wanted to heave. He was running his hands all over her back and blubbery buttocks, pressing himself against her as if they were going to get down and dirty right there on the platform. They both looked upset, as if he was going away somewhere for ages.

What if he was running away, to get out of paying me back? But he had no luggage with him, just a WHSmith bag which looked like it had a book in it. He couldn’t be going for long. I decided to march up to him then and there, and demand my cash. I was just working up to it, my breathing shallow and adrenaline pumping through me, egging me on – when a whistle blew and Alex tore himself away from his girlfriend, waving behind him as he jumped into the train.

Damn, I thought. Now what? I felt at a sudden loss, all dressed up for battle and no-one to confront. The girl turned away, a troubled expression on her chipmunk face, and walked right past me without seeing me. I felt like a ghost. Instinctively, I turned too and began to follow her. I was curious. Who was she? What was so fucking brilliant about her that Alex could just drop me and fall in love with her instead? I’m much prettier! I bet I’m more interesting and successful, too.

She got back on the Northern Line, and I sat down three seats away from her, hoping she wouldn’t recognise me as the woman who’d fallen over. The whole time I toyed with the idea of going up to her and warning her about Alex, but something kept preventing me. I made little deals with myself: if the seat next to her comes free, I’ll do it. If she uncrosses her legs, I’ll do it. If that man leaves his newspaper behind when he gets off, I’ll do it. But none of those things happened, and before I knew it she was getting off at Tottenham Court Road.

I followed her past the umbrella-sellers (it was starting to rain) and the fake designer bag stall on the corner, across the road opposite the Dominion Theatre, and then right into a little side street past the YMCA. The streets looked weirdly shimmery through my sunglasses, which were starting to annoy me. I felt as if I was walking around in a fog. Then I realized that there was absolutely no reason I shouldn’t take them off, since Whatsherface didn’t know me from Adam. I whipped off both the scarf and the glasses, relishing the feel of the drizzle on my forehead and flat hair, watching as the girl walked into a newsagents across the road. I crossed too, intending to loiter outside, reading the headlines of the papers in a plexiglass cabinet on the pavement.

Another woman was just coming out, a tall, skinny, Cruella de Vil- type with the boniest knees I’ve ever seen. She was ripping the cellophane off a packet of Malboros, and she and the girl nearly bumped into each other.

‘Morning, Emily, so glad you could struggle in for us today,’ I heard her say to Alex’s girlfriend. Emily – what a typical, mealy-mouthed wimpish sort of name. Emily blushed puce.

‘Sorry I’m late, Pernilla,’ she said. (Pernilla? That was even worse than Emily) ‘I had a doctor’s appointment – I did email you about it on Friday.’

‘I don’t recall,’ said Pernilla coldly, and I felt like cheering. I lifted up the flap of the newspaper cabinet, and pretended to scrutinise the front page of the Daily Sport. ‘See you back in the office.’ Emily nodded, bolting into the newsagents, and Pernilla began to teeter across the road on her spindly legs, sucking on a fag like it was a McDonalds milkshake.

On impulse, I whipped out my shades, put them back on, and hurried after Pernilla. I don’t know what possessed me – and in truth, I’m not at all proud of myself, even though Emily had been laughing at me in the train – but I brushed past her, my heart thumping.

‘Emily hasn’t been to the doctor’s,’ I said out of the side of my mouth, like the spy I was. ‘She’s been with her boyfriend. I saw her.’ Wincing at my sneakiness, I doubled back on myself, dashed away and hid around the corner before Pernilla could say anything in reply. I saw her turn round, mystified and shocked, but by that time I was already out of sight. She stood puzzled for a second, and then marched angrily up the steps of a tall Georgian building in Bedford Square.

(I changed my mind. So what if I get her into trouble? She laughed at me. They both did.)

Emily hurried out of the newsagents a minute later, unwrapping a Twix and shoving a finger of it into her mouth as she went into the same building. I let a safe period of time elapse before sauntering past and noting the plaque on the wall by the door: Frazer Shaw Publishers Ltd. She bloody would work for a publisher, wouldn’t she! Frazer Shaw are quite decent too – not one of the biggies obviously, but I think they do quite a bit of contemporary fiction. I began to regret talking to Pernilla, just in case she turns out to be an editor, and Patricia sends my novel to her. Perhaps Pat’s so impressed with the 20,000 words I emailed her last week that she’s already thinking about showing it to editors - it’s going so well at the moment. So maybe this was a mistake. …I know it’s unlikely that she’d remember me, but you never know. Wouldn’t that just be my luck?

Chapter 22

Alex

Monday

The day started well. Emily came with me to the station after a wonderful night together, lying in bed, making love, drinking wine and eating Belgian chocolates in frilly paper cases beneath the quilt; it was like being in a little shelter, the two of us protected from all the missiles and bullets the world could throw at us. On the way to Kings Cross we saw something really funny: a mad woman hurling herself on and off the Tube train, for reasons best known to herself. She was a real Care in the Community case, by the look of her. Emily and I giggled about it all the way to the station, and our shared laughter helped alleviate my nerves about seeing The Dragon – although even as we were laughing I felt uncomfortable about how close I’d come to a breakdown in the past. It could so easily have been me entertaining the commuters on the Tube. And now here I was, about to get on another train to visit the root – the living cause – of those problems.

Still, as we crossed London I kept looking at Emily and thinking how lucky I was, and how great it felt to be with someone. I put my arms around her to prevent her from being knocked into by strangers, even though the tube train wasn’t all that full. Then, at Euston, I felt a great wave of emotion crash over me as I said goodbye to her.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go to work,’ I said.

She kissed me. ‘I wish I didn’t either.’ We kissed again. ‘But my boss is a real old bat.’ Another kiss. ‘She sacked the girl who worked there before me for having too many days off sick.’

The train was ready to leave. I lingered on the platform, clinging to Emily until the last possible moment, when the guard blew his whistle. I leaned out of the window, feeling like a character in a wartime movie, heading towards the blood-drenched fields of Europe, not knowing if I would ever return.

‘Call me tonight when you get back,’ Emily said as the train dragged itself into motion.

‘Okay.’

‘Good luck.’

As I went into the carriage to find my seat I saw a guy nudge his friend and roll his eyes at me, as if he thought it was a great joke that I had been leaning out of the window saying goodbye to my girlfriend. I felt a flare of anger, but immediately suppressed it. Why should I let someone like that get to me? I smiled sweetly at him.

The train was packed. I found the only empty seat, which was next to an old woman with an enormous bag of crisps on her lap. I think it must have been a magic crisp packet: it lasted her the entire journey, as if she was trying to suck every crisp to death.

The journey passed both quickly and slowly. Quickly because I dreaded getting there; slowly because I wanted to get it over and done with so I could return to London and Emily. After our eventual arrival at Milton Keynes I went to sit outside a café opposite the station, to fortify myself with a coffee and a cigarette. I was terrified that I would see somebody I knew: an old school friend, for example. I didn’t want to have to give a summary of the last ten years of my life.