On we go, he says. Dr Psychoparrot.

When they pull up outside Warbler’s End he is momentarily afraid he has done the wrong thing. What if she was expecting Paris, or Venice, and is fully hoping to lift her blindfold to the sight of Gatwick’s North Terminal? But then he reasons she must already know they are not at an airport. There is no jet engine roar in the skies above them. Local take-offs and landings are marked only by the cawing of gulls.

Can I? she asks, her fingers twitching on the sleep mask he has used to unsight her.

Yes, he says.

She pushes it up onto her forehead and gasps.

My God, she says. She stares at the house with her mouth open. I haven’t been here since – since Robert and I were students.

It’s ours for the weekend, he says. The key is in the bin store.

What about Achilles? she says, twisting her neck to take in the dog, who is looking longingly at the front gatepost.

Dogs allowed, he says. I checked.

He carries their bags from the boot to the bedroom while she wanders from room to room exclaiming, Oh God, the Artex ceiling! and At least the bathroom’s updated. They have a cup of tea in the front room, perching awkwardly on a wine-coloured sofa. It’s not as nice as their house. But Logan knew it would be basic. They are not here for the facilities. They are here for the memories. And Jules’s are flowing out of her like honey from a broken jar.

He used to strut around that strange unit in the kitchen that looks like a hen coop and do his Foghorn Leghorn impression. You remember Foghorn Leghorn? From the old Warner Brothers cartoons? We loved that when we were kids. She smiles to herself. And there used to be a battered old table right here, right in front of the window, where we’d have a takeaway curry on a Friday night with whoever was around. Usually a bunch of us. His friends, mostly. What are we going to eat, by the way?

I don’t know. Takeaway curry if you like.

Christ, I wonder if Shafiques is still open? Robert used to say that was as close to authentic Indian as you’ll get in Worthing. He still feels like my big brother, you know. It’s incredible to think I’m twice as old as he was when he died.