Suki had her phone pressed to her ear when Petra unlocked the shop’s rear door, so she handed over the keys and mimed that she’d see her sometime tomorrow.

Walking home, Petra texted Helena. <Everything okay? Was the soup nice?>

She knew her mother would be fine – she was just overcompensating, still feeling guilty for earlier. Sick mother blown off for random strange man. She toyed with the idea that she had just been carried away by a moment, the surprise of him appearing in mid-air, crashing to her feet like that. But even now, hours later, the thought of Vincent, his gentle eyes, his perfectly imperfect features, the sprig of grey through his beard that sang of life and love and laughter and tears and experience, sent a little jolt through her. Yes, she knew this was an overreaction, and yes, she knew that she was prone to them, but it was fun to feel in love. It lightened the gloomy days. Wasn’t it better to delude yourself into feeling love than feeling hate?

Vincent had been cool and relaxed, but not too cool. She could swear she felt an intense something – recognition – from him too. When he’d handed over her phone, his fingers had been trembling just a little.

<I’m fine love. Stop stalking me>

And a few seconds later.

<thanks <3>

<I’ll stalk you again tomorrow then. Call if you need anything, okay?>

It was only a little after seven when Petra got home. It had seemed later – it had been a long, busy day. Somehow, seeing that poor woman in Helena’s lobby made her think it was far later than it was, as if you shouldn’t be able to see awfulness like that until after ten. She’d replayed the incident in her mind as she walked. Should she have run out into the road, chased the woman down, demanded that she accept some help or go to the clinic across the street? She could have asked her what happened, who hit her like that… but what could Petra do? It wasn’t any of her business. The woman had just been standing there, not asking her for anything. You can’t force someone to accept help.

What also troubled her was just how fast she’d disappeared. She’d only turned to her mother for a second, spoken a couple of words, and when she’d turned back the woman was gone. Maybe there was another door behind the lobby storage space that she wasn’t aware of. Or maybe she’d been talking to her mom for a little longer than it seemed and she’d just walked out the front door. The lobby was small; you could cross it in five steps. The woman was just on her way out, there was nothing weird about it. It was like a magic trick – the flickering light, distraction, misdirection. That’s the only way people disappeared in real life.

Her flat stared blankly back at her as she pushed inside and dropped her bags by the door. The too-expensive fourth-floor studio at the corner of Dale Street had probably been a laundry or utility room for this building that had now been split up and converted for student rents. But it was home. The neighbours were a blend of studious, anonymous and quiet – none of the all-night parties Helena had warned her about when she’d been considering this flat. And since she was on the top level, she didn’t suffer from ceiling percussion or much road noise. The benefit of the recent conversion was that the windows were double-glazed and well insulated and the furnishings were clean and new, even if utterly characterless. Quite frankly, after spending the day in Suki’s trove of weird whims, coming back to a bit of neutrality and blandness always suited her.