David offered to give Freddie a lift back to his flat. He insisted.

‘It’s out of your way,’ Freddie said doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to make you late; I know you have your mother to get back to.’

‘No, no, it’s raining. Please, let me save you the walk.’

When they were in the car, after the perfunctory conversation about where they were headed was exhausted, Freddie felt unsettled. David seemed stiffer. The relative easy candour he’d displayed in Jenny’s flat had gone. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Freddie grasped at one of the few things he knew they had in common.

‘So, have you heard from Ryan lately?’

‘No.’ David drove slowly, deliberately. His hands never wavered from the ten to two position, and his eyes never left the road. ‘I’ll probably see him at the school reunion.’

‘Oh, you went to school with him as well then?’

‘What?’ David slowed even further.

‘You went to school as well as university with Ryan?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ The car had now slowed to a crawl. ‘Both.’ There was a long pause.

‘There’s still a bit further to go,’ Freddie said eventually, nodding at the speedometer.

‘Sorry,’ David answered absently. ‘I drive like an old woman.’ He sped up fractionally, and the conversation died again.

Then Freddie’s phone rang. His latest ring tone – Barbra Streisand singing ‘Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?’ – had seemed hilarious when he downloaded it but, now he was alone with David, its volume and sheer inanity was just embarrassing. Unfortunately, because he was sitting on his coat, and the phone was in the inside pocket, they were treated to a whole verse and half the chorus, cutting off just after ‘Big bad—’

After a few seconds it started again, just entering the verse when the car suddenly swerved and David shouted: ‘Can you turn that off?’

‘I’m trying,’ Freddie told him. ‘Sorry!’ He unbuckled his seatbelt and managed to wrench the coat out from under his thighs, just as Barbra hit the high G. It was Jenny, but he rejected the call. He didn’t want to annoy David any more.

They drove in silence until they arrived at Freddie’s flat.

‘Sorry about the phone,’ Freddie said quietly.

‘No, it’s fine,’ David said seriously.

‘It’s a stupid ringtone,’ Freddie said. Then he waited for a few seconds to see if David would apologise about overreacting.

Instead he waved it off with a magnanimous gesture. ‘It’s really no problem.’

He smiled. It winked on like a bright light. Then, after a hesitation, David gave Freddie a rough, stiff hug. Freddie’s head only came up to his shoulder, and he found his cold cheeks being pushed into tweed. His father’s jacket? It had to be. It smelled old. ‘Good man,’ David said. ‘Nicetomeetyou.’

Then he let go, trotted back to his car, raised one rigid hand in farewell, and drove off.

Freddie could see his face, illuminated by a dim street light, the smile sliding, a sheen of sweat on his white face. Freddie walked into his building, locked the door behind him, and sat for some minutes on the sofa in the dark, feeling confused. Feeling… scared.

His phone buzzed – a text from Jenny:

Nice night, don’t you think?

He was about to call back, but didn’t. David didn’t like Barbra Streisand, that’s all. It didn’t signify anything. Millions of people didn’t like Barbra Streisand, annoying ringtones or polite chit-chat. Lots of people wore tweed. Lots of men got physical affection wrong. Jen was happy. David was nice. Freddie had Done A Good Thing by getting them together. Just… don’t overthink it.

He wrote back:

Lovely! Bit knackered call you tomorrow xxxx

Just clean your teeth, Fred, he thought. Clean your teeth, wash your face, set an alarm to wake you in time to get to the gym, ignore said alarm. Don’t go to the gym. Just a normal Sunday. He flossed, rinsed, gargled and retired to the dark quiet of his room and… thought about David. Good son. Kind to his mother. Just like Norman Bates. Shut up, Fred. Stop it now. But that photograph of Jenny? The one on her wall? Something about that stayed stuck in the folds in his mind like a splinter.

After a while he knew he wasn’t going to sleep without figuring out what it meant.

So, sighing, he got up again and got out his laptop, opened his photo folders, and found Turkey 2013. Jenny on the beach in Marmaris. Brown and blue and yellow stars. He placed one hand over her torso, leaving only the arm, the sarong, the splash of sunlight. That was it. That was it! It was the same picture that had been in the background of David’s profile picture. He was practically sure, almost positive.

What was David doing with a picture of Jenny that was taken before they even met?

Now, wide awake and fizzing with adrenaline, he found David’s Facebook page again. The blank silhouette profile was still up, but maybe his old one was in his picture folders somewhere? But no. There were no pictures at all, which was strange. Or not? Maybe David didn’t advertise his whole life online, like some people did. Like Freddie did. Stop looking for things to worry about. Go to bed. Just stop it now.

But when he finally managed to get to sleep, it was a thin, fitful rest, and he woke early to the sound of birds, with his mind still clogged with misgivings.