There is a rituality to this act of bathing now. It feels like a last rite. I wash each part carefully before cupping water in my hand and pouring it over my body. Finally, I submerge my head and hold it under water until my hair floats freely. When I come up for air, I feel reborn. I wrap a towel around my waist and return to my room. Seb has laid out fresh clothes again and taken away the old. Dear Seb. We’ve spoken about the money a few times and I have reassured him that he is forgiven. Told him that it never meant anything to me in itself. When I am dressed, I go downstairs.

He is in the kitchen, busying himself at the stove. There are plumes of smoke coming from a blackened pan in his hand. He hasn’t heard me come in.

‘Blast,’ he says loudly, and runs his hand under the tap.

‘Seb. Come sit. We need a chat,’ I say, taking a seat at the table.

He looks around startled and then hesitates, unsure where to put the pan. He drops it into the sink. ‘Xander. Where have you been?’

‘Seb, sit down for a second. We need to talk. I just wanted to say thank you,’ I say.

He runs his hands through his hair. ‘Xander. Where the hell did you go? And the bag – it’s gone.’

‘I wanted to tell you …’

His face contracts in concern. ‘You went to the police?’ he asks. ‘You gave it to them?’

‘I had to,’ I say. And then there is silence. We look at one another and I notice a tear in his eye and when he goes to wipe it, I realise that there’s one in mine too.

‘The money is yours,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you ever worrying about it.’

‘What?’ he says.

‘You can keep it. I don’t need it.’

‘But it’s yours. I’ll pay it back. I just need—’

‘You let me in here when I needed you. That’s – that’s everything to me.’

I can’t turn back now. I know that I can’t go to prison, so there is really only one option left. I will of course feed out the line for as long as I can. There are still things about life that I can marvel in. I want to be warm, and then to be cold and shivering under a blanket of leaves, breathing air that is crisp enough to crackle. I want to mourn, and to submit to any redemption that is left to me.

‘You kept that?’ he says, looking at my neck.

I place my fingers lightly on the shell pendant and nod. Whatever mood I left him in has shifted to something darker. ‘What now?’ he says.