This didn’t give me much moral support, but still I poured it all onto her plate. Right then I was hoping they’d already sent out the search parties and were about to smoke us out.

“It’s good, your ravioli,” said Marie, her voice as hoarse as the cello’s.

“It’s Dad’s favourite meal, especially this brand.”

My heart ached because of all the emotions tumbling through me, and also from hunger. But I bottled it all up.

“Yes, it’s great,” I went on, “in fact I’ve already cleared my plate.”

I found myself thinking that compassion really is a tricky business. It’s difficult to have a full heart when your stomach’s empty.

In the evening, as night was falling like a curtain, things didn’t get any better: Marie threw up all her meal. She was about to go straight back to sleep and I was only just in time to give her a little shake and say, “We have to go back, Marie. This really isn’t working out. You’ve thrown up the ravioli and you’re as white as a sheet. You’re ill. You need to be looked after! This place is as leaky as a sieve, it’s going to kill you!”

“I’m ill, but I swear it’s going to be OK. It’s flu or something. Or maybe just stage fright, that’ll be it, I think, stage fright… Take my hand, that’ll do me good.”

I could feel something like a little heart beating allegretto in the palm of her hand. It felt like holding my blackbird.

“But don’t you understand how feverish you are! And you’re shaking like a leaf. At least let me go and get some provisions and medicines. Otherwise, even if we hold out until tomorrow, you’re not going to be fit to play… What is it you’re going to play, by the way?”

“The prelude to Cello Suite number five.”

“By Johann Sebastian?”

“Yes, by Johann Sebastian.”

“Right, well, to do justice to Johann Sebastian, you need to be on form. Do you think he’d be happy to see you in this state? With all those children he had and his paternal instincts, he must be keeping an eye on you!”

She nodded and added weakly, “But only if you promise to come back quickly and lie down beside me!”