Now he can hear Jules shifting out of the sitting room and coming towards the kitchen, as if called by name.

Oh, good, she says, sweeping past him, you made me a tea. I was just going to make one myself.

She takes the right-hand mug and is on her way back to the sitting room when he asks, You want to sit with me for a bit? I thought we might have tea together.

I’m in the middle of something, she says. She studies his face. Okay, sure, why not?

They sit side by side at the table, staring through the window at the garden. That way she can comment on what the birds are doing on the bird table. Look at that one with the peanut! What a greedy thing. Always helpful to fill any awkward gaps. He rests his hand on her forearm.

I saw a huge bird in the forest today. A heron, I think. It had choked on a toad or something.

Dead, you mean?

Yes. I bumped into a woman; I think she’s from the village. Black Lab.

Evelyn? Runs the choir?

I don’t know. We had a conversation about God.

Jules goes silent.

I didn’t start it, he adds.

The clock ticks. Jules is fixed on the outside.

Oh my goodness, look at that blackbird, that’s very naughty. Shoo, you horrible thing!

‌Revelations

God is now between them like a bolster. At night they spoon and he kisses her neck, mornings they do the crossword together and exchange puns. They are even feeding each other lines, risking jokes they’ve never been safe to make before.

But mention anything spiritual and the conversation ends. She is afraid he will turn into some terrifying evangelist; some impossible-to-respect Bible thumper or worse, some hands-on mystical healer, communing with the dead. She doesn’t want to encourage him, or even acknowledge that their renewed intimacy, the kindnesses she is finally receiving, have been caused by his bizarre intimacy with the Divine.

Yet it is hard for Logan not to share with her this unfolding origami of knowledge. He hears her cursing herself, creating misery out of her own mouth. I’m so worried about Tom. You know that girl, Mei Mei, finished with him? He’s not replied to any of my messages. He’s not answering his phone. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s done something drastic?

You must stop thinking about it, he says. Worry isn’t taking you anywhere good. You’re using your imagination to create something you don’t want.

And she looks at him like he’s a crazy person.

Worry doesn’t make bad things happen, she says. If anything, it stops bad things happening.

That’s superstition, Jules.

What’s yours, then?

He can’t answer her. But he knows now that words have power; even the silent words in people’s heads.