They would like to pause time—just here, just now, in this park, this gorgeous afternoon light. They would like the house prices to remain affordable. They would like to smoke cigarettes and drink wine as though they are still young and they don’t make any difference. They would like to burrow down, here, in the beauty of this warm May afternoon. They live in the best house on the best park in the best part of the best city on the planet. Much of their lives is still before them. They have made mistakes, but they are not fatal. They are no longer young, but they do not feel old. They still have time, time to look backwards and look forwards. Life is still malleable and full of potential. The openings to the roads not taken have not yet sealed up.

They still have time to become who they are going to be.

2010

Hannah

HANNAH SITS ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, HOLDING THE VIALS IN their plastic case. She runs her thumbnail along the thin wrapper and brings out one of the tubes. It weighs almost nothing. A quick fit of the needle, one flick of her fingertip to release the bubbles—she knows what she’s doing, she has done this before. Still. Perhaps she should mark the moment somehow.

The first time, two years ago, Nathan bent over her with the needle, kissing her belly each day as the injections went in.

He kissed her differently this morning.

Promise me, Hannah, after this, no more.

And she promised, because she knew after this there wouldn’t need to be more.

She lifts her shirt and pinches her skin. A brief scratch and it is over. When she has finished she stands, straightens her clothes, and heads out into the morning to work.

LISSA IS NOT there when she arrives at the Rio, so Hannah gets a tea from the little bar and moves outside. It is September but still warm, and the small square beside the cinema is busy with people. Hannah spots Lissa’s tall frame threading its way up the street from the station and lifts her hand to wave. Lissa is wearing a coat Hannah has not seen before; narrow at the shoulders, fuller below the waist. Her hair, as ever, is long and loose.

“I love this,” Hannah murmurs, as Lissa leans in to kiss her hello, catching the rough linen lapel between her finger and thumb.

“This?” Lissa looks down as though surprised to discover she’s wearing it. “I got it years ago. That charity shop on Mare Street. Remember?”

Never anywhere you might be able to go and get one for yourself, always a charity shop, or that little stall in the market, you know, the man in Portobello?

“Wine?” says Lissa.

Hannah wrinkles her nose. “Can’t.”

Lissa touches her arm. “You’ve started again then?”

“This morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’m feeling fine.”