The lake was still there, but it had a fence around it too. Water rippled behind a small colony of ducks making their way toward a gravel bank. The temple stood where it had always stood, its white pillars catching the light. There was a figure there, on a bench, seemingly occupied with staring down at the surface. Something about their posture was familiar. I walked the last couple of hundred meters to the temple, to where Darren was sitting, rubbing his hands together, eyes fixed upon the lake.

“Hello, Darren,” I said. When he didn’t look up, I took a seat next to him. “How’s it going?”

He looked over. “Not too bad, thanks. Yourself?” He hadn’t stopped rubbing his hands, drawing one over the other as though washing them. The big blunt nails were clean. Even in my day, Darren hadn’t worked on the sites, but it’d never stopped him getting his hands dirty.

“Could be worse. Least it’s stopped raining.”

Darren’s eyes had settled once more on the gently rippling water. You could just make out the temple and two blurred dark marks. A mallard glided across the reflection, breaking it into blocks of light and color.

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen Peter, have you?”

“You’d have to ask at the site. They’ve got all the paperwork.”

“Right. Right.” Darren was hunched forward. He’d put on weight, but he seemed smaller, shelled, like a pea from its jacket. “Peter’s disappeared. I’m looking for him.”

“Trouble with the tax man, I ’spect.”

“Wanting an arm and a leg as usual.” It was one of Darren’s sayings and when I gave it back to him, he lifted his eyes to mine and gave me a small culpable smile. “How’s business then?”

“Coming along.”

“Whoever it was did a good job on this place. Was it the Devizes lot?”

Darren shifted in his seat. There was something wrong with how he was dressed. I realized what it was. He had a polo shirt on under his jumper and someone had done the top button up. Darren had always worn his shirts open at the neck. I reached over and undid it, but he didn’t react. It hurt to think that someone was dressing him. Opticians, doctors, hairdressers, he’d never been able to stand being fussed over.

“What is this place?” Darren asked.

“It’s a care home, Darren.” He nodded. “Right.” Then, “Why am I here?”

“Problem with the old memory, I think.” Points of light trembled on the lake.

“Don’t mind me asking something, do you?

“Not at all.”

“What is this place?”

I got up quickly, feeling something hard in my throat. I went to the stone head of Athena and ran my hands over her face. She had no diamonds for me today.