'This is Doctor Seymour,' Mary said, 'Who rescued you. I don't suppose you...' Her voice died away, as she registered the atmosphere in the room. 'Well,' she said, after a slight pause. 'I'll leave it to you then.' At the door she turned. 'Coat in the locker, Tom, when you're ready.
'Thanks,' he said, shifting his gaze in time to see the door close. The boy was hauling himself up the bed as if it was his first impulse to escape. His colour hadn't returned. 'You don't recognise me, do you?' he said. 'I suppose I ought to find that reassuring.'
'You were covered in mud.'
'No, I mean before.' His voice was hoarse. 'When I was ten. Do you remember, you-' Oh my God, Tom thought. He sat down heavily on the chair beside the bed. 'Danny Miller.'
'That's right.'
Saying the name changed his perception of the face. Now, second by second, under the sharp bones and planes of the adult face, a child's rounded, pre-pubescent features rose to the surface, and broke through, like a long-submerged body. 'I'm sorry,' Tom said. 'I didn't even know you were out.'
'It was kept pretty quiet, as you can imagine. And...' He nodded towards the door. 'Yes, of course. New name.'
'Ian was the governor's second name. Wilkinson was the chaplain's mother's maiden name.' His voice was expressionless.
'How long have you been out?'
'Ten months.'
'I won't ask how it's going.'
Danny - he couldn't think of him as Ian - looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing. A second later he was pressing his throat. 'Tube.'
'It'll be sore for a few days.'
When Danny could speak again, he said, 'What do you reckon the chances are of this happening?'
'Of our meeting like this? A million to one.'
'Makes you think, doesn't it?'
It certainly did. Tom was already wondering whether this was a genuine coincidence, or a dramatic gesture gone badly, almost fatally, wrong. Dramatic gestures of that kind are not uncommon, and they very frequently do go wrong, because the people making them usually have spectacularly flawed judgement. But to believe the meeting had been intended, he'd have to believe that Danny, for some undisclosed reason, had located him, and then, instead of ringing the doorbell, had decided to introduce himself by jumping into the river. It made no sense.
'You know, when something like this happens,' Danny said, 'it makes you realise things aren't just random. There is a purpose.'
Yes, possibly, Tom thought. But whose? 'It doesn't make me think that.'
'You know that chaplain I just mentioned? He used to say coincidence is the crack in human affairs that lets God or the Devil in.'
Tom smiled. 'I think what we need to let into human affairs is a bit more rationality.' A pause. They seemed to have got in very deep, very quickly. Almost as if he'd read Tom's thoughts, Danny said, 'At least we're not talking about the weather while you eat all the grapes.'
There were no grapes. No visitors. Nothing. Looking round the bleak, bare room, Tom knew it was impossible just to take his coat and go. 'When do they say you'll be out?'
'Tomorrow.'
'Will you go home?'
'No, I'm in a bedsit. I'm a student.'
'What're you reading?'
'English.'
'Do you have somebody you can talk to?'
A shrug. 'My probation officer. Martha Pitt.'
'Oh yes, I know Martha. Shall I give her a ring and tell her you're here?'
'No, don't bother, it's the weekend. She has enough trouble with me. She was trailing over the Pennines last weekend to come and get me. I ran away to prison.'
'You went back to prison?'
'Yeah, I know. Sounds mad, doesn't it?'
'What happened?'
'They told me to bugger off. And then the governor rang Martha, and she came and got me.'
'Was that when you-'
'Decided to go for a swim? No' He looked away. 'I don't know. Perhaps it was. It certainly didn't help.'
Tom thought for a moment. 'You know, you could come and talk to me, if you think it would be useful. Nothing formal. Just a chat.'
Danny smiled. 'About old times?'
'Whatever.'
The smile faded. 'Yes I would like to.'