Max and Selina’s party was over. We looked down at the deserted garden where empty and half-empty glasses stood about on the white furniture, gleaming faintly in the half-dark. The lights had all been put out and the mosquito zapper switched off. The trees swayed a little in the wind that had risen while we were up there and their leaves trembled and shivered. I thought that if I shut my eyes and wished hard enough, I’d see Mabel when I opened them, stepping daintily across the lawn and jumping onto the wall outside my window. I shut them and wished and nothing happened. Silver put his arms around me and held me tight.

We looked over the front then and saw all the people going home, kissing Selina, some kissing Max, car doors slamming, and the civilized academics wincing because the noise they made might wake the neighbors. “Good night, ladies, sweet ladies, good night, good night,” said Silver.

It wasn’t very late, not much past eleven. No one was about in the flat. I suppose it’s hindsight that tells me the calm silence felt expectant, as if waiting for something to happen, but I think I really sensed this at the time. Perhaps all interiors feel like that when there’s no activity going on in them, no wind to rattle windows or rain to dash against glass. Quiet, calm, stillness. The sound of traffic on the Westway was a distant hum, not unlike the sea.

We had been in the living room about ten minutes, made ourselves tea, and put the radio on very softly, I talking of going back to old Mrs. Fisherton’s, when Wim came in at the window. He gave Silver one of his usual hugs and then he hugged me. I fetched him a mug of tea, strong and black, the way he liked it. Liv must have been listening for him, maybe had been listening for him for three days, for she came out of the bedroom and although he only nodded to her, saying “hi,” sat down on the floor at his feet. Her position seemed designed for resting her head against his legs, and if she failed to do this it was probably because she feared a rebuff.

Wim’s silences often seemed enigmatic or profound but it’s possible they only indicated an empty mind. Yet he had the ability to be with people, part of the company, while taking no part in the conversation. When he did speak he was articulate and fluent. He never made small talk, would have scorned asking how someone was or commenting on the weather or the temperature. That evening he drank his tea, set the mug down and made the statement that was to change our lives.

“I’ve seen Andrew Lane and Alison Barrie,” he said.

Silver smiled. “You and Morna both.”

“Who is Morna?”