Despite the complicated and negative feelings she’s been harbouring towards the young woman, Hilary feels an automatic wash of empathy. She knows that sorrow. She knows that horrible emptiness. ‘Oh, no,’ she says now, surprised by the genuine feeling in her voice.

‘She’s okay, but, you know …’ His voice trails off.

‘I do know,’ Hilary replies, the force of her tone making him look up. ‘I know exactly what it’s like, believe me.’

‘You’ve been through it?’

‘Many times, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh.’ He’s staring at her now as if making private reassessments of his opinion of her. ‘Look, would it be too much to ask … Would you think about talking to her? I’ve tried, but I just feel like I’m getting nowhere. It might be good for her to talk to someone who’s been through it already. What do you think?’

‘Of course I will,’ she says, smiling, the opportunity presenting itself so easily, a little glow of triumph inside her. ‘I’d be happy to.’

She takes flowers with her when she visits the next day – a verdant bunch of hydrangea floribunda, the stems wrapped tightly in paper kitchen towels.

‘These are lovely,’ Leah says, then leaves them by the sink, instantly forgetting them as she drifts out into the garden.

They sit on hard chairs in the shade of the house, a rickety table between them. The sun burns high in the sky but it doesn’t reach them there. From inside the house come playful shouts from the little boy. She hasn’t seen him around much lately. He is engaged in some kind of board game with Jake involving hippos and frogs. The noise is distracting, intrusive. Hilary feels needled with annoyance. Can’t that young man see how unwell Leah is? Doesn’t he realize the yelping and play-acting are painful to her?

And yet Leah doesn’t seem pained. Her customary appearance of being slightly distracted has changed somewhat. The hazy, dreamy expression has hardened into preoccupation. It’s as if she has forgotten something, and the faraway look in her eyes reflects a quiet desperation inside to remember.

‘You’re very pale, my dear,’ Hilary states, drawing the gaze back to her.

‘Am I? Yes. I suppose I have been indoors a lot lately.’

‘Why don’t we sit in the sun?’ Hilary suggests, getting to her feet.

‘Oh, no, I –’

‘Come on, I insist.’ She puts her hand under Leah’s elbow to draw her up, is surprised by the thinness of the arm. How slight and delicate the girl is. It’s like picking up a loose bag of sticks. The resistance she puts up is feeble enough, and meekly she follows Hilary up into the grass, the older woman carrying their chairs and placing them firmly in a spot that’s in the sun.