Sitting alone in the busy Spring restaurant, Martin stared out of the window onto the rainy streets of Shanghai. He crossed his arms and let out a sigh. Tomorrow he’d be back in London and the life he’d left behind him a year ago. The idea filled him with sorrow and he topped up his glass, finishing his third bottle of Tsingtao. If he was to get through tonight, he would have to be drunk.

When the rushed waitress placed his starter of spring rolls in front of him, he forced a smile. Though he’d been hungry before arriving here, his appetite was now gone, his mood flat. Of the dozen countries and cities that he’d been to in the last twelve months, Shanghai held the most fascination: the perfect blend of tradition and innovation; the wafts of delicious food on the streets; the busyness and anonymity to rival even that of London. And, of course, there was Krista.

He imagined her in the empty chair across the table in the restaurant. They had come here so often that the table was unofficially reserved for them.

At Krista’s request, they’d said their goodbyes last night, lying on crisp white bed sheets in her hotel room, spent after love making. Though they’d known each other only three weeks, their connection was immediate; their separation inevitable.

‘Isn’t there any way you can stay longer?’ she’d asked last week as they strolled through People’s Square.

‘I won’t have a job to go back to if I stay,’ he said.

Krista stopped walking and smiled slyly. ‘And?’

‘And I can’t do that,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s alright for you, you’re freelancing. You can write anywhere. But you know what the job market’s like at the moment. I was lucky to even get a sabbatical. I can’t afford not to be working. You know my situation.’

As the words passed his lips, he knew that it was himself he was trying to convince. He saw Krista’s face fall and he hated himself for it. How had he become this man who would sacrifice passion for security? After all, what really was there to go home for? An empty house and the confirmation of divorce? A tedious office job that he’d loathed for a decade? A real man would have a backbone; a real man would do what he wanted and not what was expected.

He put his arm around Krista’s shoulders and pulled her close.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. And he was, more sorry than he’d ever been about anything.

It was gone eleven o’clock by the time Martin left the restaurant, his step a little unsteady, his speech a little slurred.

The rain had stopped now and he was passing a closing karaoke bar when he heard his name called. He turned to see Krista standing under the glow of a streetlight. He blinked, sure that he was imagining the scene.

‘Martin,’ she said again. ‘Let me come with you.’