The phone rang early the next morning. I was awake, just, but still groggy from the night before. I dragged myself into my mother’s study, which we’d stripped almost bare, and picked up the flimsy plastic receiver with its coiled white cord that twisted itself back into the same tight knots each time, however often one unraveled it.

“I’m so glad I caught you. Listen . . .”

It was Julia. She spoke with a nervous fluency, as if she’d been rehearsing her words.

“I shouldn’t have said that nonsense about the fifteen-year-old girl. I made it up. It was stupid of me and I’m sorry. Not that I think you believed me. You didn’t, did you?”

I tried to be diplomatic:

“The part about Marco being banished was a little hard to believe . . .”

“I know. Banished! What a ridiculous idea! I don’t know why I came out with it. Well, I do. It’s one of those stories you make up when you’re really furious with someone. I’ve been cooking it up in my head for ages, imagining telling it to the police, or a judge, or another newspaper editor. It helps me deal with the absolute hatred I feel toward Marco for trying to shut me up. Sometimes I get so lost in the fantasy, I believe it myself. Anyway, when you told me he’d try to stop me from self-publishing I was so upset and angry I just blurted it out. I wanted you to take my side. But I didn’t realize how completely mad it would sound till I said it out loud. I’ve been up all night tormenting myself for being such an idiot.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear it . . .”

“Everything else I told you was true. That I can promise you.”

“Right.”

“I felt you believed what I was saying, up until then . . .”

“Yes.”

“And you still do . . . right? I mean, nothing’s different there . . .”

“Of course,” I said.

There was a longish pause in which the brevity of my answer seemed pointedly emphasized. I braced myself for a more concerted interrogation. But she just gave a soft, surprised laugh.

“All right. Well, good-bye.”