At the window she saw Douglas cross the gravel and stand back as Gould reversed the car into the driveway. Both men wiped their hands and looked it over. Douglas walked out of sight toward the house, but a few moments later he reappeared, pulling on his driving gloves. He got into his car without looking up. Enid could have caught his eye if he had. She moved a step back but he didn’t check, didn’t look up at the window at all and why would he? It was just another normal day in Berkshire. Gould walked ahead of him like an undertaker and opened the gates. Douglas revved the engine, turned left and was gone.

Carefully, quietly, she went over to the bed, flipped the lid of the suitcase shut and heaved it to the floor. One step at a time, down the stairs she went, to the tiled hall where, on the telephone pad, on a clean sheet of paper, she wrote, Douglas, I’m leaving you. Enid. For a moment the sounds trickling from the kitchen caught her – Everett banging pots and huffing, and a young voice calling amidst bird song – but she walked in the other direction and left the front door open behind her. The suitcase knocked against her shins as she crossed the gravel.

At the gates she turned in the opposite direction to Douglas, right, towards the station, a mile away. Up the hill, veer left and down the other side. It was a simple matter of putting one foot in front of the other. She heard a car approaching.

The only other house with a motor was owned by Douglas’ friends, the McManners. Not her friends, not people she could talk to and laugh with, not humans with open minds and courage. They were his to invite over for backgammon and hers to tolerate, but Mrs. McManners, who considered everyone’s business her business, had been waging a one-woman war to conquer Enid. She’d announced that all Enid needed was a hobby and something to commit to that would make her feel worthwhile: a seat on the Parish, a place in her knitting group. Enid had gone once and nearly died of boredom. What did these people know? Her bandaged mind had slipped for a moment but she’d shored it up with an excuse to leave and a brisk walk home in twilight. Her hobby had become Keeping Mrs. McManners Away.