Leah glances once more around the room, and then says: ‘I think that’s enough now. Will we go down?’

It’s different now out in the hall. As if by saying those words aloud in the bedroom, Hilary has released some tension that was within her. Leah’s voice also sounds lighter, less tense, as she walks towards the door. She tells Hilary how Mark came to visit her in hospital. How he’d felt guilty for renting the flat to them, for inadvertently putting her in harm’s way.

‘He didn’t really believe it, you see, that his father was guilty of the crime. But now …’

‘I think we all know now.’

They’ve reached the front door and Leah draws it open.

‘Well, goodbye, then,’ Hilary says, and to her great surprise, Leah steps forward and puts her arms around her, drawing her into a firm hug. There is real warmth in that embrace, and Hilary hears the deep chime of sincerity in Leah’s voice when she says, ‘Thank you,’ close to her ear.

She is taking the camellia from the back seat of the car when she sees the two of them leave the house. Leah gives her a little wave, and Hilary responds, watching as they walk slowly down the street. Leah’s limp looks more pronounced out in the daylight, and Hilary watches as Mark offers her his arm and she leans on him – something courtly and romantic about the gesture – a closeness between them as they disappear around the corner.

Clouds are gathering in the sky. Rain is forecast for later in the afternoon, and Hilary would like to get the camellia into the ground before the downpour. She carries it out into the back garden, smiling to herself as she imagines Greg’s surprise when he comes home from school and sees her handiwork. With the new plant waiting in its pot on the grass, Hilary fetches the spade and begins digging.

It’s hard work. The fuchsia has been in the ground for close to twenty years. It was one of the first things they planted after moving here. Its roots are deep and spreading. Hilary works with dogged determination, the spade slicing through the earth. At intervals, she pauses in her digging and pushes hard against the main trunk, then pulls it, trying to loosen it from its mooring. Eventually, she feels it give. She puts down her spade and grabs hold of the bush with both hands, braces her feet against the earth, heaving with all her strength. Her body aches with the effort, but she feels it come. Moments later, the bush leaves the ground, its roots clogged with soil. Hilary drags it to one side. Then, with her spade, she begins to hack at the roots in a bid to free the clay that’s lodged there, a great ball of it. She hits it with the blade and something comes loose and falls out.