She’d always considered herself a poor liar; certainly, that’s what Leonard believed, but then he knew rather more about the topic than she did. As it turned out she was rather good at it, which was crucial for a life now manoeuvred with military precision. She planned her lies, she kept them simple, she held her gaze steady when telling them, and just in case she forgot one in the welter of excuses that were now required to explain her lack of punctuality, her forgetting to collect Leonard’s dry-cleaning, her not having bought a birthday present to send to Leonard’s brother, her not doing any of the myriad of chores that used to occur like clockwork, she kept a note of her lies. Tuesday: lunch with Maggie; Wednesday: shopping with Galya; Thursday: an extra few hours at the op shop, whereas all these times had been spent with Mark. Leonard was so convinced of her being a poor liar, it would not occur to him that she was telling him anything but the truth.

She checked the kitchen clock, and changed her mind about fresh coffee. ‘You’ve decided to talk with Galya,’ she said to Andrew in a no-nonsense sort of voice. ‘No point in putting it off. And when you do talk with her,’ she said, as she hugged him at the door, ‘say you were worried about her. She can’t take exception to that.’

As soon as Andrew left, Sylvie checked the clock again, made herself another drink, instant coffee so as not to waste a minute, and took herself to the living room. She dialled Mark’s number and settled into the couch for a giddy half-hour before Leonard returned from his walk.

Since Winston’s departure, Leonard had come to understand the value of exercise. By devouring time and decanting the mind, it provided much-needed respite from a life under stress. During the week he walked every morning and evening, and on weekends he walked through half the daylight hours. He walked so much that Butch, initially thrilled at his master’s new habits, now baulked at the front door.