Lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, Marc saw himself leaning against the railings of the motorway bridge as the cars roared towards him. His whole body was shaking. It was exhilarating. The sound of the cars whistled in his ears, coming at him in bursts like gunfire or meteor showers. Sometimes, when a passing lorry made the bridge shudder, he felt as if he were lifting off, being propelled into space at such speed that the cars seemed to stand still. Far away … was a place he had never been. He wondered what it looked like there. Like nothing, he supposed – why else would it be so far away? Far away, everything is different, incomparable, a new discovery every second. A flaming red Ferrari came flying out of nowhere. The whoosh of air took his breath away. That guy must be going somewhere far, far away …

Boudu lay at his feet, a soft ball of dough. He was dreaming. From time to time his lip quivered and he let out sharp little cries. He had such long whiskers, they spurted from his face like a fountain. They would have to get him some more cat biscuits; they had almost run out. He must have put on several pounds since he got here. Before long he would be enormous.

Looking at an atlas, Marc found the very tip of the Tierra del Fuego. Anyone who wanted to go a long way away must eventually end up there. There was nowhere further. This was where land ended, dipping its beak into the water. He imagined sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, his bare feet pedalling in thin air. The furthest point on the map must look a bit like parts of Brittany. This struck him as rather disappointing, however pleasant Brittany might be.

Marc closed the heavy book on his lap, puzzled. ‘That’s a long way away, sure. But how are you supposed to get there? Finding the end of the world on a map is one thing; finding the time to get there’s quite another …’

*

‘It’s the 14th tomorrow. Are you going to see Anne?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I’ve bought her a shawl. Will you remember to give it to her?’

‘That’s kind of you. It’s lovely. I’ll tell her it’s from you.’

‘You know she couldn’t care less. Just give it to her, that’s all. Listen, I’ve got a week’s holiday to take later this month. What do you say to a mini break, somewhere like Bruges or Florence? It’s ages since we went away together.’

‘Yes, great idea!’

‘Here, have a look. I went round the travel agents this morning. Budapest looks nice too, and it’s not far …’

‘What is it?’

‘A shawl.’

‘They’re for old ladies.’

‘Not really. It’s pretty, don’t you think?’

‘It doesn’t smell good. It doesn’t smell of anything.’