The crowd fell silent as the final moment came close. Al was a tense line of muscle and sinew, fingers twisted tightly into hers. She thought about putting her arms around him as she had for Camille when they’d watched her parents die, but it wouldn’t do much good. There was nothing that could make this moment any better.

The blade dropped with a faint whistle through the air, and Al flinched. His father’s head thumped into the basket and a roar went up around him. The guard held up the head by its fine blond hair. His father’s grey eyes still looked out over the crowd, an expression of confusion in them. Ada could feel Al shaking.

His mother was next, forced to her knees and held in place by the headlock. Another whistle-thunk, and then they were looking at only her head held up by her long honey-coloured locks. The brothers, shirt fronts stained with vomit and groins dark with piss. Ada could tell they were crying as they were bent beneath the blade. A few more lanky, blond people added their heads to the basket, and then the tumbril was empty.

A shudder passed through Al, then he turned on his heel and strode off through the crowd. Ada caught up with him as he bent over the embankment and threw up into the river.

This time she did hold him, taking greater care of cleaning him up than she had hauling him home the night before. She rubbed his back as he folded in on himself, cold and still as stone.

Ada passed him her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Al, why didn’t you tell us? We could have done something.’

‘That’s why I didn’t,’ said Al, wiping his mouth. ‘You would insist on trying to save them and bother me about my feelings and I couldn’t, okay? I couldn’t risk you all for their sake. It’s not a trade I’m willing to make.’

Ada was silent. He offered her the handkerchief back but she shook her head.

‘Please don’t tell Cam.’

‘I have to,’ said Ada. ‘She would understand, you know.’

‘Exactly. I can’t bear the idea of being pitied.’

He patted his mouth daintily, swaying on the spot.

‘It’s not pity, Al. It’s empathy.’

‘Cam hates me.’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘She does a pretty good impression of it.’

Ada sighed. ‘You remind her of herself. She hates that. No one likes looking in a mirror.’

Al snorted. ‘Speak for yourself. Unlike Cam I have cheekbones to die for.’

‘I’m serious, Al. She doesn’t hate you. But you make her feel a lot of complicated feelings she doesn’t know how to deal with.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘Hate isn’t the worst thing someone can feel. The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s apathy.’

Al didn’t reply.