But I am there and Grace is beside me. I have this book in my lap. This passage. I am reading, reciting, in fact, as she lies with her head in my lap.

‘It’s too wordy, Xander.’

‘Yes, but listen to what he’s saying,’ I said. ‘He’s saying that what any of us has to say is worthy.’

She laughed at that point and lifted her head. ‘Not worthy – wordy. Nobody can have that much to say.’

Now I laugh. She was right of course. And nobody ever had that much to say ever again: 4,215 pages.

But as I stare at these pages, something else comes back.

It’s there, in shadow, ready to trigger a memory. All it needs is a gentle pull and a deluge of these somethings stored will be waiting to consume me. I grasp around the edges in frustration. Something wants me. Not a smell. Not a taste. Something else is there tapping at my head. Or digging. Perhaps a sound.

‘Xander?’

I look up and see Amit’s face, in smooth innocence.

‘Do you never go home?’ I say, smiling.

He flushes momentarily at this and I remember that he has the librarian, Hazel, on standby to call him when I appear.

‘I prefer it here,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Anyway, I kind of come in to check on you. How did it go with the lawyers?’ His voice is low, not quite conspiratorial, but self-conscious – on my behalf.

‘Hard to say,’ I say, after thinking it through. ‘I’m afraid I need your help again, if it’s not too much trouble?’

He nods and without being asked, straightens his bag over his shoulder and makes a beeline for the computer terminals. I follow him in a way that makes me feel like a child. He sits, his face underlit by the glow of the screen. He tilts his head slightly.

‘I need to find a person. Not missing this time at least.’

‘Sure. Name?’

‘Ariel.’ I spell it out. He types it in and looks at me expectantly.

‘Surname?’ he says.

‘I don’t know it. But I thought since the name is quite unusual?’

He spins in his chair and gives me a deflated look. ‘It’s quite hard with a full name but with only the first name it’s impossible. Look,’ he says, pressing return, ‘262 million results.’

‘He’s a yoga teacher if that helps. Or he was, at any rate.’

He types in ‘yoga’ and sends the information into the machine. ‘Still 36 million. And if I put in London, it’s still 6.8 million.’

‘Well, you at least managed to narrow it down,’ I say.

He laughs for a second before becoming serious again.

‘I’m sorry. You really need a second name or a date of birth maybe.’