I don’t know why I had not noticed the cherry tree before. It had very clearly been there for half a century and now was an explosion of white blossom, a gigantic gone-to-seed cauliflower, leaning against the prevailing winds shadowing what might have been, once upon a time, a patch of grassy lawn. The feeling was, I suppose because of the cherry tree and the desolate house, a bit Chekhovian.

But. Among the rusty piles of leaves, the grey dust of the dead lavender, fat clumps of primroses, daffodils and a white tumult of narcissi speared up through the matted grass, and here and there, in tight cushions, long neglected, blue and purple aubretia spilled wantonly along the rutted path. Under the fig tree the new grass was hazed with violets.

None of this, it would appear, had I noticed when I had first arrived at the house, or when Florence and I, and indeed Thomas, had spent the afternoon together. I suppose that I was so preoccupied with a good many other things I had not taken in the simple pleasures which now I could see surrounded me. But it was perfectly obvious that life was resurging again: the long winter of sadness and neglect was over, the amazing miracle of spring had suddenly hit this forgotten piece of land and the cycle was beginning again. I felt the surge myself, and as if to endorse that feeling, just as I began to move on up towards the house and the terrace I saw the toad.

Fat, heavy with promise, golden eyes blazing, she lumbered slowly up the path on a route which she obviously knew from years before and from animal instinct. She was on her way to her destiny, and her destiny lay in the little stream which bickered and whispered through the boulders beyond the little orchard. Toads, I knew, always return to the place where they were born. Nothing could deflect them from the instinctive route. She would slop into the stream and wait there until a mate, or a number of mates, would find her, and then the ugly waltz of copulation would take place. In time, if she survived, she’d weave a lattice of glossy black pearls in ropes among the reeds and grasses, and new generations would one day emerge. I felt extremely comforted by the sight of her lurching along on her way to her mates. She was now my toad; she inhabited my land, I would follow her rules, not touch her, let her go where she wanted.

It was an exceedingly pleasant feeling to think that I was now on my own territory. Without even entering the house, I had already banished James. He had never existed. I had been given an amazing chance to kick-start my own life again and I was determined to make the best of it. Come what may.