She starts walking everywhere. She walks to work. She walks back along the canal in the afternoons, savoring the light—the changing sky. She sits outside on the terrace, feeling warmth on her skin. She buys herself flowers each Sunday at the market. One Sunday morning her eye is caught by some plants, which she buys and puts in terracotta pots and arranges on the windowsill in the little room, where it is sunny and they will receive the light. The evenings are lengthening; it is light now at seven o’clock.

THE HEAT INCREASES as April passes; by the end of the month it is as hot as July. Each morning, before work, she gets up early and goes to the pool and swims—further and further every day. Work is fine, but she knows she is ready for a change. She thinks she might apply for a different job—swapping Farringdon for Lisbon perhaps, or New York. All those jobs she didn’t apply for, all those opportunities she didn’t take, back when she was waiting, treading water. She has no ties—can do anything, go anywhere she likes.

After work, in the still of the flat, Hannah pours herself water and stands at the sink and drinks it, then goes into the little room, takes off her clothes, and lies naked in the evening sun. She closes her eyes and lets the light play in purple and red and green across her lids. She feels full, although of what exactly she cannot say.

One evening, lying like this, her phone buzzes with a message.

She lifts it, sees the name—Nathan.

Need to collect some stuff. Is that OK?

She stares at it while long seconds pass. She does not reply. Half an hour later the phone buzzes again.

Would it be OK to come round later?

She puts the phone down, picks it up again.

What time?

Soon? I’m close by.

Her heart beats faster.

OK. Come by. I’ll be out.

She stands and pulls on knickers and an old black summer dress, one that has been worn so often it clings to her. She leaves her phone behind, in case she is tempted to change her mind and call him, then takes her keys and walks towards the canal. It is still warm. The bars on Broadway Market are full, but she walks away from them, following the canal towards Victoria Park. She takes her time, doing a lap of the grass, moving between the lengthening shadows of the trees, and then makes her way back home in the gathering dusk.