It was a bad idea to walk through the park on a moonless night, almost morning, alone. But to walk around it would take an hour or more, and I was sure to get lost. I had no money for a taxi. And my repeated trips up and down the soggy stairs of the Trade Union Club, pushing through heaving rooms, asking everyone I knew — in a shout — if they’d seen my companion Jo, had delivered me nothing.

I stood on the footpath, weighing my few options, knowing I would walk through the park despite my reservations, pushing down the shame of being abandoned, blaming Jo for my choice even as I scripted the nonchalant telling of my bravado.