It was never her intention to remember, it just happened that on the train home from Scotland, as she sat watching Douglas turn the pages of the newspaper, she remembered the moment on the steps of the Basilica di San Lorenzo when he’d told her his name and she’d thought, never heard of you. If it hadn’t been for the guide book and dropping it, her aunt tearing her skirt on the gig, them laughing, she’d have never agreed to meet him again, they’d have never sneaked off with a picnic and sat on the shores of the lake and talked about God. His soft voice had trickled over subject’s ancient and forbidden like her father’s used to.

“Have you heard of Christian Science?” She’d shaken her head and he’d smiled. “It’s a new religion, from America, Mary Baker Eddy.” From his pocket, he’d brought out a pamphlet and read aloud: “Accidents are unknown to God, or immortal Mind, and we must leave the mortal basis of belief and untie with the one Mind, in order to change the notion of chance to the proper sense of God’s unerring direction and thus bring out harmony. Under divine Providence there can be no accidents, since there is no room for imperfection in perfection.”

“What does it mean?” The water had lapped at her toes, her face was near his.

“It means that there are no accidents. God decides everything.”

He’d meant how she’d dropped her guidebook, and how her aunt’s skirt had ripped on the gig – but watching him as the train rattled south, it hit her that he’d had no idea what he was talking about.

The journey was long and arduous. They kept stopping at vague stations like Newton le Willows and Rugeley where no one seemed to get on or off. Finetta held her toes in the bassinet, which was strapped onto the bed in the adjoining compartment; the connecting door was open. Sybil had lent them a girl to make the journey easier; Douglas’ hands would be full now, grappling with Fagus’ wheelchair, trying to get through narrow gaps, and up carriage steps that were too steep. The conductor had fashioned straps for it too, to stop it careering about. It was held fast against the sink now, knocking against the girl’s knees – Enid could see bits of it all through the doorway: Fagus gripping the arms of his wheelchair, the girl’s knees, the edge of the bassinet. She looked at Douglas seated opposite her, the newspaper open, a cigarette burning in the little metal ashtray by the window, and thought: there are no accidents. You brought me to this.