It was only at the the third cry that he raised his eyes to look at the man. Dressed in what would once have been a resplendent evening suit, it would still take more than the current dirt and tears to hide the once proud elegance. And it showed. Even so, this wasn’t the reason for Jonte’s surprise, or why his feet felt nailed to the station concourse.

He was looking at himself.

From three years ago. And that night, the night that he had first met Em, and the night…

“Some tea, sir. I just want to get a cup of tea.”

Jonte put his hand into his pocket and pulled out two pound coins.

“Here.” He tried no drop the coins, to avoid touching the other man’s hand.

“Thank you sir. Bless you.” He started to walk away. “I’ll see you.”

Jonte felt a shiver run down his spine as he opened the door to the station and walked out into the car park.

Some coincidence, surely. But how many people would have had a suit like that one? It was the jacket that stood out: Jonte had been insistent, despite the expense, on the purchase of a vintage garment, adjusted to fit at additional expense, and decorated with a thin silver thread. Marion had always hated the idea of the decoration, but once it was finished even she admitted a liking to the suit. It was far more subtle than she’s anticipated, and she laughed, it gave Jonte a distinctive edge over the other penguins at the ball. Em had agreed.

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