The pharmacist pointed at a notice saying that abuse of the staff would not be tolerated.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Francis, ‘I was abusing the news, not you. I know you were just showing due diligence.’

He had wanted to say ‘absurd pedantry’, but managed to swerve at the last moment. If only the pharmacist could appreciate how little he envied Lucy’s Xanax, let alone whatever reason she had for needing it. The offended party dawdled before returning with the half-empty box of Xanax and three full boxes of Keppra.

‘Thank you,’ said Francis, taking the blue and white paper bag and heading back towards Dr Hammond’s room.

On his way, Francis spotted a fig tree hanging over the railings of the garden square; he had to cross the road to have a closer look. It was his thirty-second holiday on his way back to Lucy’s panic. He was as bad as the pharmacist, dragging his feet, except that he wanted to bring something from the ripeness of autumn back into the consulting room, from a tree that was pushing nutrients into its fruit and not just retracting them from its leaves. He reached up and touched one of the fig leaves, itself like a splayed hand reaching into the air and the light. He ran his fingers over the veined underside of the leaf, imagining for a moment the particular niche of life occupied by the fig tree. The fleshy sacs, usually thought of as themselves the fruit, in fact contained the hidden flowers and the hidden single-seed fruit of the tree: he felt the infolded richness of the plant, its reserves of sweetness and fertility. He also felt how he longed to return to Howorth. Much as he was infatuated with Olivia, he was rather stunned by the pace at which things were moving and he needed some solitude to take it all in. He was at Lucy’s obviously harrowing consultation fourteen hours after meeting her, adding another kind of precipitous closeness to his ever-expanding weekend with Olivia.

When he got back, he knocked gently on Dr Hammond’s door.

‘Here are the meds,’ he said to Olivia.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘We might have to see another doctor. Hammond has gone to check.’

‘I might go for a walk.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Olivia. ‘Maybe you want to go back to Howorth. You must have things to do.’

‘No, no, I’ll stay. Just text me when you’ve finished. I won’t go far.’

Olivia went back inside, gave the paper bag to Lucy and walked over to the basin to fetch some water. It had been a savage and bewildering morning. When they first arrived at Dr Hammond’s, Lucy had left no time for platitudes or courtesies; her anxiety made her sound impatient, almost angry.

‘Please just tell me what’s going on,’ she said, as she was sitting down. ‘I’ve been awake all night.’