It was incredibly cold. He wore a thick coat and long scarf, a snood covered his face, and he sported a black woolly hat. Only those blue eyes might have given him away, but nobody gave him a second glance.

The tram was crowded, and he had to stand, but he didn’t mind because he could watch people and not be recognised. He didn’t normally mix with these people but there were no airs and graces, no standing on ceremony, just ordinary honest folk going about their business, and that was a comfort to him.

What would they say if they knew who was standing beside them?

He got off somewhere in the suburbs and called at a Londis where he asked for twenty Marlboro Gold. He looked at the shopkeeper who appeared nervous, like he was going to be robbed, and only afterwards did he realise that the man was suspicious of his American accent.

It was a short walk to the tiny terrace on a side street, and he knocked on the door. It was opened by John who gave him a peck on the forehead.

“I didn’t think you would come.”

“Why wouldn’t I come?”

“It’s just that you are a famous actor, coming to my house for tea.”

Back in the States, tea was called dinner, and this amused him.

“Where would you like to eat?”

He took off his winter clothing and settled on the sofa beside the fire. “I think we should eat here and watch Emmerdale and Coronation Street.”