If there are moments that do great harm—the cruel word said, the fist swung, the bomb detonating in the packed marketplace—could the reverse be true? Not the long slow knitting of bones, or the wound puckering, turning to scab, then scar, but a magic reversal?

They were calling our names from the manor. As I let him go and stepped back, I saw something moving outside, a shape going back around the corner and out of sight.

I put my head out. The rain was falling more softly. When I turned back, David had knelt and was lifting a large piece of slate.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking.” Under the slate were earwigs, a long pale worm, white roots. “I think we’re going to find them soon. Don’t you think so?”

Night was falling but Marcus wanted to drive, just the two of us, after we’d dropped Em home. We passed the standing stones at Avebury and I waved at the Devil’s Chair. At the bend in the road, Silbury Hill looked like a giant sandcastle, an upturned teacup of soil upon which the grass had inched over the ages.

Marcus seemed to be struggling with something, but I wasn’t going to help him.

On the lane toward home, a leveret leapt out in front of the van and bounded ahead of us in the yellow light of the headlights, till we’d clocked it breaking the thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit before it leapt into a gateway.

In the lay-by, Marcus killed the engine and in the sudden darkness leaned in to kiss me. After a few moments he drew back. He let out the slightest of sighs, the smallest of reproaches. I let go of the door handle and put my hand on his thigh. I kissed him again, this time properly, feeling his breath quicken and his body respond. It was mean of me, but it made me think of one of the Hacketts’ old Labradors, how you only had to drop a hand to it and it’d be felled, on its back, imploring for a belly stroke with dying eyes. Marcus kissed my neck, one hand on my back, the other slipping between us. I could tell he felt he was owed it.

“We could go out Friday. Into town. Up to Bristol if you wanted, see a band. Just us two.”

“What band?” I cracked the door.

“I don’t know. Could see if there’s something on at the Thekla.”

“If there’s anyone good, it’ll be sold out.”

“Don’t you ever get bored of hanging round with him?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I know you and Peter have always been mates—”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes we have.” And I got out and slammed the door.

A light was glowing in Mrs. East’s kitchen. I heard the van swing round and drive off. She came out onto the step and beckoned me over.