A memory—my earliest? Throwing crusts to the birds in the garden. “Where do they all come from? How are they always there? Is it the same ones always?” Another time. “Where does the world go at night?” My mother held me against her chest and we looked out the window, over the fields, waiting for the fox to come. The love was harder to remember than the hurt, but I stayed with it.

A crow loosed itself from a tree, ribboning upward. It was not the same crow always. The adult knew it. But another self watched the crow in flight and knew its black eyes had seen the stones set at Avebury, the Roman legions marching, the invading Viking hordes. Seen every love and sorrow and tasted every death. All around, the Downs rose and fell. A little breeze blew, rippling the spring wheat. It was good for wheat up here; the rain filtered down through the chalk hills, deep into the earth. Of all that I had loved and cut myself off from, this had cost me the most dearly.

Forty minutes on, I reached the stile. A nettle lashed my wrist as I clambered over. This time of year, they were at their most vicious. I plucked a dock, spat on it, and rubbed it over the row of welts. There, on the tender skin, the stings burned, but by the time I reached the manor, the pain would be gone and I’d have forgotten all about it. Cuts scabbed, became scars and faded. Even broken bones knitted. I wished that the harms done to the parts of the self Peter’s father would have had no trouble naming—the soul, the spirit—could be made visible, so you could know when they too had healed.

There was nothing to mark where Em had died, only a sign a bit further on asking visitors to sign in at reception. The firs were gone, replaced by a neat fence, and where the outbuildings had stood, cars were parked on a stretch of tarmac. The staff parking was half-full, the rest almost empty. I surveyed the grounds. The lawn had been reseeded and the borders planted with low-maintenance shrubs. There was a smooth path, wide enough for wheelchairs, curving around the lawn, and benches were placed beside it at discreet intervals. The specter of Health & Safety hung over the manor. The windows and roof had been replaced, the pear tree cut down.

I made my way toward the main entrance and then stopped. I wanted to know what they had done to the lake. Turning back, I followed the path at the far end of the car park, leaving the manor behind. Ahead, the lawn rose to meet the wood. The day was still, my feet upon the path the only sound.