She thought he would say thank you and run off, maybe even just smile his appreciation. Instead he threw the ball back at her. She didn’t catch it and it rolled back towards the gate of the cottage. She lumbered towards it, thinking how long it had been since she had run or even gone for a brisk walk, if you didn’t count yesterday at the castle. Her body was an instrument for tending Adam, a piece of equipment for carrying, feeding and bathing him. She bent down to pick up the ball, stood up again and tossed it.

This time she was ready when he threw the ball back. She caught it in time. They continued to throw the ball back and forth. She noticed that his blue T-shirt had a small logo that she couldn’t recognise. His shorts looked like they were too big for him – they reached his knees and once or twice he had to hitch them up as if they were sliding down. His feet were in canvas shoes that had most likely been white but were now streaked green and black with dirt. She tossed the ball and he reached out to catch it. He pitched the ball and she cradled it on her stomach, holding it while she asked him his name and if his family were staying at a nearby cottage. He seemed not to understand what she was asking. She threw the ball back at him and then found herself chatting to him, talking about their surroundings. He listened, his facial expressions responding to her words. When he started to show off his skills – how he could balance on a ledge or jump over a bush – she clapped and said, ‘Wow, how clever you are, how strong, how quick,’ which seemed to please him no end. After some time, without a goodbye, he picked up his ball and, carrying it under his arm, turned around and broke into a run. She wanted to shout after him, ‘Wait,’ but there was no reason to do so. She went back to her seat in the garden.

Salma jogged after the man because he cleared a path for her. He was the leader, the one showing her the way. But he himself wasn’t clear. He wasn’t near enough, and this was part of the incentive to keep running, to try and minimise the distance between them so that she could see who he was, maybe even catch a glimpse of his face. Right now, he was a blur of brown hair and red T-shirt, long black running shorts. The only thing about him that was tangible and near was the imprint of his trainers. They were the evidence, the clues she could follow. She brought her feet down on each print and pushed through woodland park and in between trees. Sometimes she heard a twig snap, the thud of his shoes, a gravel swish when he skidded down a slope covered in leaves. Sometimes she heard birds screeching his presence, ruffled, and taking flight because of his advance. He kept running and she kept following. She thought she was catching up with him only to find that he was further away.