There will be an after! There has to be. I look over at the sideboard. Our Halloween turnips are so pretty! Acorns are strewn around them. Some have been carved so they have tiny ornate flowers blossoming all over them – a miracle. Turnips are hard to carve! Another is covered in tiny moons. One turnip has a long root at its bottom like an elephant trunk. Morag has drawn eyes on it and topped the hairy turnip lid with a tiny bowler hat from the shop. She painted three small turnips dark green with silver stars. One turnip has been painted black and hollowed out and inside it she has made a tiny scene. There is a forest floor. A little carved turnip wolf is stood on a miniature boulder. He howls at a fingernail moon. There is moss on the turnip floor and long twigs make it look like a forest at night. Drums begin to pound down low out on the street. Hundreds of them! Pagan drummers marching down the High Street. It is Samhain. The white witch will be given her ritual sacrifice on Calton Hill. The Green Men will protect her on the journey. There will be fire breathers up on the hill and a bonfire and tiny sparks of light flying off it.

– What is that?

– Beltane drummers. Did you see that new guy for a lunch date today?

– Might have.

– Morag, you are so cheeky. How many of us are you in love with?

– Just you! We can fit in one more film before dancing at the Palais, Ivy, please? They are playing Pride and Prejudice, Aldous Huxley did the script.

– Maybe.

Shrug.

She sharpens the kohl.

I turn to face the window.

Morag runs eyeliner from the top of my thigh all the way down to my ankle. Straightest line in the world, it is even more perfect than a silk-stocking seam. She does the second line so my left leg matches my right.

Images flash through my head.

A dog barking at me in a river. Walking across empty fields covered in snow.

Soldiers in pursuit.

– I fucking hate this war, you know that?