She was so used to putting planned activities, lists, between her and that feeling of despair just under life, that now she was able to pack quite efficiently, even to plan a menu for the next day’s meals, write out the address of the cleaning woman who might be persuaded to come and take over for Henry, and when John came in she insisted on telling him herself. He stood there in the hall outside their bedroom at half-past one, a smear of lipstick on his chin, a little bewildered, a little ashamed, it seemed (had he had too much to drink?), saying, “I’m sorry, Mother,” and not looking at her, casting furtive glances at his father until Henry said,

“Go on to bed, John. And wipe that lipstick off your face.”

Isabel watched John walk slowly down the hall, his shoulders stooped a little, go into his room and close the door very quietly. How awful that such innocence had to be involved, that no one she loved would be untouched by the talk, the curiosity, the stain that was creeping across the continent towards them, that couldn’t be stopped. Already she herself was infected with it, so much so that she resisted the temptation to go in and kiss the sleeping Lily good-bye. Lily would take this hard. She was so vulnerable under her funny freckled little face, thirteen, and worried about everything, just as Isabel had been.

“Here,” Henry was saying firmly. “Drink this. It’ll give us about four hours’ sleep, and you’re going to need it. I’ve set the alarm.”

Where is grief, she thought, with her cheek against Henry’s back, breathing with his breath as it came from deeper and deeper down, until she herself went down with it into that numb sleep you can buy in a bottle. Where is grief, she asked. But the answer was: Sleep. This is our last night of safety alone. Tomorrow the world will have crashed in. It was the first time in years that she had gone to sleep without saying Edward’s name, without his coming alive into her mind, without the wave of anxiety beating down on her.

They drove to the airport through fog, fog drifting down in billows across the road, then half lifting. It was a relief to come out at last on the three-lane highway which would take them right through, to be able to follow tail-lights ahead, though it was still a slow process. “Don’t worry,” Henry said, “we have plenty of time.”