‘You’re riding on public transport, right?’ Geoff Towers once said over a similar tiny amount for a rail journey. ‘You’re seeing things, right? Noting changes in schedules and timetables. Security arrangements or the lack of them more likely. That’s a professional activity. You think those consultant arseholes the Tax Office hires don’t write off paper clips?’

‘How about when I’m having a beer in the Toxteth on a Friday night? Observing humanity.’

‘Arguable,’ Geoff said. ‘Eminently arguable.’

That train of thought led me back to Cyn and what she had to tell me. After telling me goodbye she’d had nothing else to tell me for twenty-plus years. ‘I hope I never see you again,’ was one of the things she’d said towards the end. Well she hadn’t, apart from our moment in court. In the time between the split and the divorce I’d tried often to contact her but she’d thrown up a high wall. She’d told our few mutual friends not to talk to me about her and instructed them to tell me not to ask. In all the time I was with her I never knew Cyn to change her mind. This had to be something serious.

Libraries have changed in the last twenty-five years more than most institutions. They used to be gloomy, wood-panelled places with a musty smell and tight-lipped women in twinsets. Now they’re brightly lit, computerised, and the senior reference librarian is likely to be sporting tattoos and a lip ring. The cafe was below decks in the library but natural light flooded down from a massive lightwell. That was welcome. Since I incurred some damage to the cornea of my left eye I’m slow to adapt to changes in the light. Too dim and I’m fumbling, too bright and I’m dazzled. As it was, in this bright space with very few of the tables occupied, I spotted Cyn almost straight away and before she spotted me.