He examined the item carefully. He didn’t know much about them, but it looked like a SIM card from a mobile phone. He took it off the keyring and turned it over in his fingers. There was nothing more he could glean from it from external examination. What was it? What did it represent to him? Could it be a lifeline to a new future? He’d never considered himself a believer but right now he’d believe pretty much anything. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he had to know. Maybe the person whose card it was would give him a reward. Maybe he should throw it away – it did say it should be destroyed. Maybe it hadn’t been used yet. Too many maybes. He had to find a phone to try it in – only that way might he know if this mysterious object was more than just discarded rubbish. He thought for a minute. What friends did he still have? Since leaving his last job, he’d lost contact with almost all the people he’d worked with. There was only Jane, she might still talk to him. Yes, he’d ask her if he could borrow her phone. He got to his feet, glad for some sense of purpose, however futile it may have seemed.

He went home to clean himself up, try to make himself look a bit more presentable. Looking at himself in the mirror, he flinched – the sunken eyes, the ashen skin. He splashed some water on his face and cleaned his teeth. No paste – he’d run out days ago. Still, the brush on its own had to be reasonably effective. Better than nothing, anyway. He found the cleanest-looking shirt he had and put it on. He found a sliver of soap in the bathroom and rubbed it under his arms to mask the smell that had begun to develop, rinsed his hands and looked again in the mirror. It would have to do.

There were still two hours before Jane would finish work. He thought through what he was going to say. What would be his first line? Would she still remember him? It was getting on for a year now since he’d seen her. She had been the secretary at a building firm he’d worked for, and he’d always thought they’d got on well. She was pretty in an old-fashioned way, simple make up, always wearing a dress to work. She stood out against the background of tough, grimy and often quite nasty men who seemed to dominate the company. The abuse she’d had to endure. He thought this was the reason they got on – he couldn’t fit in with other men’s constant bluff and swagger, she seemed completely at odds with it. So why hadn’t he kept in touch? He mulled this over for a while, walking slowly out of his front door and along the route he used to take every day…