But when he forced himself to go through the gate, he was unexpectedly amongst a crowd of people in a small barren garden. He hovered, stricken by bashfulness. Many of them were visitors, he could see that by the bunches of flowers being handed over, and there were kids, too, amongst the visitors, so he didn’t really look out of place. But at first it was difficult to tell which ones were patients. He’d been prepared for dressing-gowns and hospital wards and nurses in the background. Disorientated, he stood looking around and suddenly located Angie without having to ask anyone. She was sitting by herself under a tree on the far side of the garden, looking very subdued and small, like a lamp turned down low. Even her clothes were lacklustre—washed-out old jeans and a shirt faded to the colour of water. Her hair hung in slack tendrils around her lowered face, and she was playing listlessly with a long stem of ivy, winding it around her fingers.

Seymour went across, skirting the groups of other people, and knelt down beside her. He was taken aback by the tremendous start she gave, as though she hadn’t heard his footsteps across the lawn, as though his sudden appearance had jerked her back from some other dimension. She nearly jumped out of her skin, he thought, bemused, and saw just how pale and delicate her skin was, close up. Almost too fragile to contain such a complicated and vulnerable thing as a human being.

‘Anyone would think I was a ghost,’ he said. ‘Hi, Angie, just thought I’d come and visit you.’

‘How did you know where I was?’ There was no welcome in her voice. It sounded flat and tired, but underneath the flatness lurked something that could, he sensed, flare into anger directed at him for coming. He’d made a mistake. He should have stayed away.

‘Your sister said Rankin House…’

‘Lynne? She’s been talking to you?’ The something glinted like a blade in the sunlight.

‘Not really what you’d call talking,’ Seymour said quickly. ‘It was only on that day when you…got so sick and they had to pick you up in the car. Rankin House was sort of mentioned casually.’

‘Casually, eh? Sort of casually enough for you to know the address.’

‘Hey, calm down, Angie. Lynne didn’t even say the address. There’s that sign you can see from the train, I just thought it might be the same place. So I dropped in to visit you, that’s all. Only you’re not exactly giving me the red carpet treatment, are you? Talk about grouchy—it’s like…like visiting Morris Carpenter!’