If Alistair's frown weren't hidden in his shirt, the pity in it might be insulting. But it is hidden. By the time he's shirtless and trading for a clearn garment, he's brightened. "Hey. We could have some fun," he says. "We could play I Spy."

He pulls the shirt on. Leaves his trousers where they are. Those aren't sweaty.

"Or arm wrestle. I'd let you use both arms."