Inspiration, in its most literal sense had filled her, and the notion it brought that morning was that, for the first time in several years, she no longer felt quite so alone.

Dr. Smith was small and Scottish, from Aberdeen as a matter of fact, and he had a charmingly mobile face. Full of laughter. If it ever stayed still, it would present a truly terrible image, a frightening strength. But it never did stop moving. That would be bad, if it stopped. Like a tiger. As it stood he was the sort of man that one wanted to mother. Very vulnerable, but with that potential to be exceedingly strong. A tiger cub, then.

‘Cubs, and their master⁠ —’ Alexander stopped, turned a fraction, and looked down at Joan, puzzled. ‘I say, I haven’t said anything too risqué, have I?’

‘No…’ Joan flinched, broken out of her daydream. ‘Why do you say that, Mr. Shuttleworth?’

‘Because, my dear, you’re blushing.’

‘Oh.’ Joan picked up Wolsey, and smoothed his fur, aware of the eyes of the other women on her. ‘It’s a medical condition.’

Prologue

‘they seem, in places, to address me so directly it’s almost uncomfortable’

‘either the wallow in the sudden realization that every single sad song in the world is written for me alone or the overwhelming, distracting power of a lot of very loud noise’

From the diary of Prof Bernice Summerfield

Long ago and far away. That’s one way of looking at it. But I still sat on the edge of the bathtub and bit my knuckles.

I’m trying to ignore it, and I hope you are as well. An unfortunate episode. If Ace was here, I could say to her: ‘Yes, I understand it now, once again. I remember that grief is like having somebody sit on your chest and punch you in the face.’ Pain is always forgotten. That’s what allows us to have babies. It is a pity she’s not here, actually, because now we have so much more in common.

Post-It note covering the above

I will not become maudlin. This is all meaningless. I met someone called Guy, he took on overwhelming odds and then he happened to die. May have died. Did die.

Perhaps.

Post-It note covering the above

‘These words are not my own they only come when I’m alone’

Post-It note covering the above

Those five minutes… I remember seeing the look on Clive’s face when he heard that a dear friend of his had hanged himself. The most frightening thing I’ve ever seen. Because it was so different. I didn’t think that I could make that face if I tried.

What was so bad was that Clive had suddenly, in that moment, discovered how to.

Now I can do it too.

From the diary of Prof Bernice Summerfield