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‘Is it a big party?’ I asked brightly, foolishly, for something to say, face averted.

‘It's a bit of a late engagement party,’ his voice came evenly from behind me. ‘My sister's getting married at the end of the week. It's a drinks thing.’

‘I see.’

I didn't really. I was miles away. Had he meant me? Or was I imagining things? I turned, quite boldly, and his eyes snagged briefly on mine. I quickly turned back to the books. Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina – hardly the role models I needed right now, adulterous little minxes. My hands scuttled nervously along to More Dick. Heavens. Oh – Moby. Right.

‘Have you got secrets and lies?’ asked a voice in my ear.

‘Certainly not!’ I spluttered. I turned to find a middle-aged woman in a pac-a-mac with thin lips and a tight grey perm, frowning at me. She looked disconcerted.

‘I think we have, actually.’ Ludo swept by me to the Young Adult section. ‘It's by Ian Atkinson, isn't it?’

‘Quite possibly. It's for my grandson.’ The woman flicked me a contemptuous look and bustled away to line up with the professional bookseller.

A few minutes later, her purchase made, she hurried from the shop, squeaky in her plastic. Which left just Ludo and me. He glanced at his watch.

‘There's only fifteen minutes till closing time. We may as well shut up shop, it's so quiet.’ It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing had been said. No eye contact made.

‘Oh, no, I'll stay. I promised Malcolm.’

‘Except you haven't got keys, and even if I give them to you, you've still got to get them back to Malcolm or me, which is a hassle. No, we can close early today. It's not as if people are hammering on the door to get in.’

There didn't seem to be any answer to that. Wordlessly, I gathered my bag and scarf, and waited as he locked the till, then turned out the lights, plunging us into semi-darkness. I followed him outside.

‘How did you get here?’ He glanced briskly up at me as he bent to lock the door.

‘I walked. From Malcolm's. I came down by train, you see.’

‘I'll give you a lift home.’

‘No, no, I can walk.’

‘Don't be silly, I live opposite you.’

‘But you're going to a party.’

‘That's where it is. I live with my sister at the moment.’

‘Oh.’

There didn't seem to be any answer to that either, so I followed him mutely to a blue hire car, with ‘Ratners Hill Garage’ painted in large gold letters down the side.

‘Why do they write on cars like that?’ I said jovially, my mind whirring as I got in the passenger seat. Keep it light, keep it light.

‘Oh, I don't know. I'm rather in favour of it.’ He got behind the wheel. ‘I think every thrusting executive with a company car should have the name of the firm they're accepting the tax-free perk written on it. See how cool they look in a BMW with “Durex” down one side.’

I giggled. This was better. Safer. But I couldn't think of anything to follow it up with. We drove through the backstreets of Jericho, still bustling with late-night shoppers and commuters on their way home: heads down, collars up against a brisk wind that had picked up and was rustling the plane trees above, bullying them to lose their leaves, which spiralled to the ground. As we approached my road, his road, I glanced at him.

‘How come you live here? You haven't always lived here?’ Implicit in that remark was – I'd have noticed you before. I think I would.

‘No, I was renting a flat in Summertown before, but my sister's going to live in Scotland when she's married – Angus, her boyfriend, has a pile there – so I'm taking over her flat. It seemed sensible to move in now. I'd have had to fork out another year's rent in Summertown. But you're right, I've only been here a few months.’

We drew up outside my house. I looked up. It was dark and shuttered. Cold and uninviting. Across the street the lights shone from where he was going. Through an upstairs window a party could be seen silhouetted and in full swing, walls practically vibrating. On the front steps below, a couple were ringing the doorbell even now.

‘Come and have a drink.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn't possibly.’

‘Come on,