He watches as she goes to it, touches it tentatively, then trails her hand along it, caressing it. He feels a shimmer of nerves run up and down his spine, as if it were his tired body the hand was stroking. All this time, he’s been telling himself that it’s her companionship he craves. But this reaction surprises him. For the first time his hopes seem to extend beyond friendship, the glimmer of an old want stirring to life.

‘I used to dream of having a piano like this,’ she admits, her voice still dreamy, her gaze on the instrument, not on him. ‘I used to love playing in competitions, because it meant I got to play on a grand piano. I remember how magical it felt.’

‘You played competitively?’

‘When I was younger, I used to think one day I might be a professional musician.’ She flashes him an embarrassed smile. ‘Pretty naive, hmm?’

‘Not at all. I’m sure you’re very talented.’

She shakes her head in vigorous dismissal. ‘I’m not. And even if I was …’

‘What?’

‘It takes a sort of courage to pursue a career like that. To be able to put yourself out there … And I just don’t have it. I lack the bravery, the drive.’

‘You’re shy,’ he says softly, and is gratified by the blush it brings to her cheeks. ‘Why don’t you try it out?’ he asks, indicating the piano, witnessing her hesitation, but alive to the desire within her, the temptation.

‘No. I couldn’t.’

‘Please,’ he says, more forcefully. ‘I insist.’

He comes to her, draws out the spindly-legged piano stool, and taking hold of Leah’s shoulders he guides her into place. It’s a risk, touching her like this, but she doesn’t object and he feels a little tic of pleasure, a flare of optimism.

When her hands go to the piano, he watches, taking in the long pale fingers, the narrow wrists. The skin on her upper arms is slightly mottled, and it endears her to him, makes her flesh seem more real, more alive. He remains standing behind her so he cannot see the expression on her face as she begins to play, his eyes remaining fixed on the bend of her neck beneath the dark hair that she has tied up. Slender. The stem of a flower.

The music that comes from the piano is simple and slow, an old folk tune, a ballad – melodic and plain. A sweet sound, but she is right about her lack of talent. Nothing showy or bravura about her performance. Her reticence comes through in her playing, and yet for him it is perfect. It is what he needs. A salve to all he has endured.