At Silver’s all the lights were out too. This was unusual. It never seemed to happen that the last to leave or go to bed put out the lights. Darkness and silence make you feel you have to creep about. Someone had left one of the windows open and a wintry breeze was blowing in. I shut the window and we went to bed.

I’ve never suffered from insomnia but that night I couldn’t get to sleep. First of all, I lay spoons-fashion close beside Silver, his arm around my waist. Then, restless and uncomfortable, I turned over and gently pushed him over, this time embracing him. That didn’t work either and at last I got up and walked about, searching my mind for what was keeping me awake and finally deciding it must be those doubts I had had earlier. Those doubts and the return of the Nylands, such different people from what we had expected. I told myself what Silver would have told me, that worrying was useless and destructive. If one was doing what one knew was right, there was nothing to worry about. But was it right?

I went to our bedroom window, opened it, for the room was stuffy, and leaned out. The night air was fresh and cool but not cold. A little breeze made the plane leaves rustle and their threadlike branches sway. Down in the street, up against the curb on our side, an unmarked white van was parked. As far as I could tell no one was inside it. Was it Jonny’s? How would one know? The registration number was obscured by darkness but it would have been useless if I had seen it. I had never noticed the number of Jonny’s van.

Silver stirred when I went back to bed, turned over and put both arms around me. The arm that was underneath me dug into my breasts and the arm on top seemed set to crush my ribs, but I felt that this was part of his complete return to me and I soon fell asleep—to be awakened after what seemed a moment only, a second or two, by a scream loud enough and terrible enough to be heard on Maida Hill. I jumped out of bed. Silver’s arm was numb from my lying on it. He staggered up, rubbing the cramped muscles. The screaming went on, then died to a dreadful low keening. It wasn’t Liv’s voice but a man’s.