In the soft pool of light cast by the hospital lamp, Erica watched Tiger breathing slowly beneath the oxygen mask. The machines at the side of the bed flickered with lights and neon graphs that mapped the progress of his life from moment to moment. The worries of the past few days were gone now. Light years away. They had been replaced with deeper concerns. With matters of life and death.

There was nothing she could do but wait. Absolutely nothing. Except hold his hand, trying to avoid the tube that was slotted into the back of it, and the plaster that held it in place. She stared hard at his expressionless face. It had been so troubled the last time she had seen it. It didn’t matter. Not now. She remembered it, instead, smiling, laughing, expressive and mobile. And asleep. She would watch him sometimes, even after thirty years of marriage, while he slept, and wonder what he was dreaming about. Probably flying, she thought, or thinking up another harebrained scheme for his secret society. Another bit of excitement. And where was his excitement now?

She reached over and stroked the dark hair above his forehead, running her fingers through it and feeling the warmth of his scalp. She thought about the girls who would be coming back from university, to see their father like this. And suddenly she was engulfed by panic at the prospect of losing him. She did not want to be without him. Did not want it to end like this, here in some darkened hospital room, in the middle of an island, in the middle of an ocean, miles away from home.

She felt her eyes stinging, found it difficult to focus on his face, and as the tears welled up and streamed down her cheeks, she whispered softly but with fierce intensity, ‘Tiger, Tiger, burning bright…’

Chapter 20

A child is owed the greatest respect; if you ever have something disgraceful in mind, don’t ignore your son’s tender years.

Satires, Juvenal, AD c. 60–c. 130

Christopher felt like a schoolboy being sent off on a trip by his mother. It should have been him giving instructions to Ellie as she packed her bags, but it seemed that a role reversal was in progress.

‘You must enjoy yourself. You must let go. Have a bit of fun,’ she urged, pushing more T-shirts and shorts into the already overstuffed holdall.

‘Yes,’ he responded meekly.

‘And don’t let Matt persuade you otherwise.’

‘No.’ He stood up and walked to the window of her bedroom, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he looked out over the garden. ‘What do you think?’ he asked without turning round.

‘About Maria?’

‘Yes. Do you like her?’

‘Does it matter?’

He turned round to face her. ‘Yes it does. Very much.’

Ellie’s face broke into a sympathetic smile. ‘I think she’s lovely. We had a chat about you. This week. In the kitchen.’