He was taking his time, looking puzzled but determined, coming right at me.

So I let him see me pocket my unused phone as I turned and stepped out of the booth and right into him. I yelped. «Aghh!»

«Sorry. Beowulf, how you've changed!» He looked me over, visibly shocked, blocking me in the booth.

I shied back, wimp intimidated by a street thug, a bit offended and a bit afraid. «Sorry, man, I didn't mean to nudge you.»

He stepped forward and took my hand in both of his, despite lack of encouragement, and pumped it and hung on. He bellowed over the crowd noise. «Ander Smittarasheed. We made two travelogue vids together. Beowulf, all I can say is you must have a hell of a tale to tell.»

He had no doubts: he knew me. I said, «Hide. Hell of a tale to hide, Ander.»

«Not anymore.»

I shouted, «Yeah. Right. Are you with anyone?»

«No, on my own.»

«Come watch the game with me. I think there's an empty seat next to mine.» There'd better be.

He was still staring. Whatever he'd known, whatever had brought him here, he hadn't expected what he was seeing.

I hugged that thought to me. He was seeing me for the first time in twelve years. I dared to hope that Ander hadn't prepared for this meeting. There was no backup. Just him.

As we passed the booths, his hand closed on my upper arm. He might not think it likely that I'd dive into a transfer booth and vanish, but he wasn't risking it. He shouted, «Why a phone booth to use a pocket phone?»

And I showed myself astonished at his stupidity and bellowed, «Noise!»

Then the crowd roar drowned out any hope of conversation, we moved onto the slidebridge, and I had a few moments to think.