He crashed back through the narrow strip of woodland and started to run across the open ground to his house to fetch the wire cutters he kept in the garden shed. He was still jogging, but now short of breath, by the time he arrived in view of his cottage. Despite his longing to press on, he had to stop to take in what he thought he saw. Perhaps the urgency of his mission and the hours spent packing magic mushrooms had made him start to hallucinate, or perhaps Hope, in faded jeans and an elegant sheepskin jacket, was standing with her back to him writing on a notepad pressed to his front door, her slender wrist encircled by her silver and turquoise bracelet. It generated the fake nostalgia of recalling something that had never happened and seeming like an ancient token of his love, rather than an object he had seen for the first time at Hunter’s lunch.

‘What the hell?’ he said, more loudly than he had meant to.

‘Hey, Francis!’ said Hope, spinning around and smiling reproachfully. ‘What kind of a way is that to greet a friend?’

‘I haven’t got time for this,’ said Francis, starting up again, ‘there’s a deer entangled in the boundary fence. It’s in a blind panic. I have to set it free.’

He unlocked the shed and took the wire cutters from their hook.

‘I’ll help,’ said Hope.

‘That’s not something I associate you with,’ said Francis.

‘Let’s just save the deer and argue later, if you’re still in the mood,’ said Hope.

‘Fine,’ said Francis, in a tone that communicated the opposite.

When they arrived, the buck was further ensnarled in the wire, but also clearly demoralised by its futile struggle.

‘Let me,’ said Hope, putting a restraining hand on his arm. Her touch left him awash with chaotic desire.

‘Shh,’ she said, moving carefully towards the ensnared animal, pausing between each step. ‘Shh …’

‘Watch out,’ said Francis.