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She had met Chester at a house party in Bedfordshire in 1988, a month before her finals. By that point she had given up studying almost entirely. Her life was devoted to cocktail parties and the drama club, and the thought of writing an essay practically sent her to sleep. Chester, in contrast, was…

What kind of life must that be? Eight hours up and dowp on a train, into the Railway Arms to drink yourself silly, dinner from a frying pan, a terrible hangover and then begin again. Moving from job to job, shedding friends, gathering illnesses. Chester stopped chewing for a moment and let the poss…

[...] How he wished he could cast it all off, admit his ignorance, embrace his normality. He entertained absurd fantasies of giving up his teaching job and becoming a plumber or a van driver instead. If he thought for more than a few minutes, however, he realized that this was impossible. The idea …

[...] His father, an electrical appliance salesman, was in himself a man of moderate wit and cheerfulness, but his profession had encouraged him to explore such unnatural extremes of affability that by the time he returned to the family home at six or seven o’clock he had nothing left for his wife …

He sighed with relief, listlessly checked his watch for the third or fourth time and frowned at the continuing nonappearance of his train. As he did so, his right hand semiconsciously sought out his gut, cupping and probing the surplus flesh as though searching for a key to its existence, some way …