Then I realized that I was in Harry’s room, lying on top of the bedclothes in my shirt. My trousers and jacket were on the floor; I couldn’t see my shoes and socks. I got off the bed and walked over to the window, the clammy cold of the lino striking my bare feet. I parted the curtains a little and saw that it was a fine morning. The view was better from here than from our bed­room; this morning I could see as far as the spire of Gilden Parish Church to the north.

Near the church a little stream made its way down to the river in the valley; Harry had fallen into it one day during the Easter holidays and come home soaked to the skin. It looked pretty and harmless from here, sparkling in the sun as it ran into the woods alongside the church, but at the point in the woods where Harry had fallen in it ran deep and a little boy had been drowned there last summer.

I let the curtains fall back into place and went back to the bed. I didn’t get under the sheets but pulled Harry’s Indian blanket over me. It wasn’t actually Indian but Norwegian, soft and thick and with a pattern of stylized fir trees in bright green against a scarlet and black background. It was, in fact, the only bright and cheerful object in the room; why had I taken such trouble over my daughter’s room and so little over my son’s? Why had I been angry with him for falling into the beck? Why was I so often angry with him?

When he came home for the holidays we’d have this room redecorated. We’d go together to the shop to choose the wall­paper and the paint and even, if he wanted it, some more civil­ized floor covering than lino. Or he might fancy a sheepskin for a bedside rug, an undyed one with the aura of the outlaw’s cave in the mountain hideout. He was only ten, after all.

I reached down and took my cigarettes and matches from my jacket pocket. There was a cup and saucer on the bedside table; Susan had made tea last night after Mark had gone. That had been the most peculiar event of all; wearing her dressing-gown, she’d come into the room with the cup of tea, put it down beside me and she’d stood waiting silently. I hadn’t said anything; I’d said enough when they came downstairs.