‘Her parents owned a villa in Cairo and they spent the winter months there.’

‘I know where that church is,’ said Amir and she almost gasped with delight as he started to connect her with streets and landmarks she had forgotten. ‘I badly need a holiday,’ he said. ‘There is no peace here. Continuous strife every which way I turn.’

She surveyed the scene around her. Fresh cool air, the almost empty lawns of the monastery, the blue-grey waters of the loch up ahead. ‘Plenty of peace here.’

‘I will join you,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘You will be most welcome. Bring a rain jacket.’

‘Seriously. I need to get away. I feel stifled.’

‘You said this years and years ago, the exact wording: I feel stifled.’

‘Did I? What was the occasion?’ He sounded more alert. They both had good memories. Brains that retained information to spill out on examination papers. But why start raking up the past?

She said, ‘The first day of our clinical placement. We were put together.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

Did he remember that he had hated it and she had encouraged him, neglected her own work to do his for him while he procrastinated? He never acknowledged her support or thanked her. But then she didn’t need to be thanked. To be his love was enough. To bear his weight was enough. If she were to judge him now, she would say spoilt brat. Mollycoddled at home as the only son, privileged everywhere else. But that was typical of their time and place. The hard knocks hit the men later in life, while vulnerable girls turned into venerable matrons who could do no wrong.

‘Salma. Salma.’ His repetition of her name pushed its way through her.

It was coming too soon, she wanted to press down the brakes, to keep the pace steady, to be in control. Instead she blurted out, ‘I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’

‘Sorry is not enough. It’s not enough.’

The whine in his voice made her laugh or sob or cough. A sound from the throat. She was far away. Cruel and far away.

‘You can laugh all you want, but there are flights to London every single day,’ he said. ‘More than once a day.’

‘I’m not in London.’

‘Then how do I get to this forsaken place where you’re at, another flight?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘You’re not taking me seriously.’

‘I thought I was the one who was going to come back, and you were going to make a doctor of me.’ Even while joking the hurt was still there, old but visceral.

‘I will bring you back with me. That’s a separate issue.’

‘Ah, well. You would like it here. There’s a tennis court. I’ve seen some people playing. I haven’t played in years.’ It was such a holiday thing to do. Search for equipment, play a sport you haven’t played in years.