Olivia saw her phone light up on the corner of the table. She had only left it there as a salute to the sense of potential emergency fabricated by the technology itself. What if Francis had a flat tyre? What if her mother had dropped dead? She leant forward and saw that it was in fact her brother Charlie who was calling. For a moment her deep scholarly habits pushed back against the distraction, partly because she welcomed it so much, but then, just as she changed her mind, the call ended. She felt annoyed with herself for putting up a struggle, but moments later he called again – it was so like him to assume, to know, in fact, that she really wanted to talk to him.

‘Hi, C,’ she said.

‘Hi there,’ said Charlie. ‘Is that the clatter of a train I can hear?’

‘Yes, I’m on the way to Sussex.’

‘Because you met a tall magnetic stranger at a party, and he invited you to spend the weekend.’

‘Well, actually, it was a conference. The rest is terrifyingly accurate.’

‘I’m psychic,’ said Charlie. ‘At least when it comes to you.’

‘It’s only with your patients that you don’t have a clue what’s going on in their minds.’

‘It’s for them to make that discovery,’ said Charlie, ‘to find the gold mines that were hidden in their psyches.’

‘Or the potato fields,’ said Olivia. ‘I feel that’s more like the sort of discovery you would inspire … Hello? Hello?’

Charlie called back.

‘I was thanking you: potatoes are much more nutritious.’

‘Hmm,’ said Olivia, ‘of course that’s what I meant. Hello? Oh god. Hello?’

‘Hi, I’m here,’ said Charlie, ‘this connection is hopeless.’

‘Let’s talk when I’m back in Oxford; I must do some work. I have to finish my final edit.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Charlie, ‘nobody is going to read your book anyway!’