Helen looked desperately around, at the summer-green brilliance of the empty Parks, and at Chloe’s calm profile tactfully turned away towards the river. Everything was as it always was, and yet horribly dislocated too. All the natural rightness of the summer morning was bathed in a lurid new light, the certainty that she wanted to run to Tom.

Fear and apprehension welled up in her. She struggled against it, and at last managed to replace it with Darcy’s face. It was suffused with pride, as it had been when she held out her hand for him to see the ruby ring.

Her engagement ring.

Not here, not here. It was impossible to think about anything here. Back home in the safety of Follies, she would face this horrible problem there. In the meantime there was this expanse of petal-covered grass to cross, and Chloe beside her who must not be allowed to guess at anything. With superhuman effort Helen said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good company this morning.’

She saw that they were coming to the river. The bank was lined with willows, and the olive green water tugged endlessly at the trailing branches. Just in front of them a high-arched bridge spanned the water like an iron rainbow.

‘Look,’ Chloe said, pointing. Someone was sitting huddled on a wooden bench to one side of the bridge. ‘It’s Beatrice.’

Helen was so lost in the turmoil of her thoughts that she caught herself wondering wildly who Beatrice was. Only when they had stopped in front of the bench did she see that it was Stephen’s wife.

Beatrice looked years older. The wings of grey hair over her ears had thickened, and the taut skin of her face had sagged. Her eyes were dark, and dull with watching. She had been feeding the ducks with bread from a brown paper bag, and she held the last crust in her fingers. She was shredding it into grey crumbs that scattered over the front of her raincoat.

When she saw them, she smiled vaguely, unsurprised, and said, ‘Stupid, isn’t it? Even when the children aren’t around, I automatically bring bread to feed the bloody ducks.’

They stood awkwardly in front of her, not knowing whether to stop or move on and leave her to her solitude.

‘Sit down,’ Beatrice said. ‘It’d be nice to have someone to talk to.’

‘Where are the children?’ Helen asked, grateful for something – anything – external to focus on. Beatrice flung the last crumbs of bread across the water and brushed away the crumbs.

‘Staying with my mother for a while. It’s supposed to give me a chance to think, but in fact I can’t find anything to do to fill the time. Have you seen Stephen?’ The abruptness of the question betrayed her anxiety. Helen and Chloe glanced at one another, not sure of what to tell her.