I’m on the wrong line for Arton Road but I can change here. I can travel quickly using the underground network but it’s rush hour and I’ve got hundreds of commuters against me. And I’ve no idea what on earth I’ll do when I reach my destination. It’s a good two or three hundred metres from the station entrance to Miller’s house. In theory I can cover that distance in seconds but the sun is out and I’ll self-combust almost immediately. Concentrating on getting as close as I can, I vault onto the platform. It’s densely packed with people and, while the majority wait patiently for other passengers to disembark before they push onto the train, many are none too impressed as I squeeze past them, banging into elbows and warm bodies. It doesn’t take long for someone to spot that I’m not human and shout out; immediately others jump to the side and clear a path. They might be moving out of my way for the wrong reasons but it’s damn helpful.I abandon the escalator in favour of the stairs, taking the steps four at a time.
