He points to a big tree in the corner of the car park, hanging over the fence from someone’s garden. I can’t see the bird, but the sound it makes suddenly cuts through the rain and the wet rush of cars on the road. High and sharp. Clear notes fading into a trill. It was background before but now it’s impossible to hear anything else. We stand silently for a few seconds. The pattern of it. The pause and then the same song, over and over.

‘They like singing after rain,’ he says.

‘It’s still raining.’

‘Maybe they know it’s going to stop.’

I look at him and he meets my eye for the first time, properly, without looking nervous, without pretending to be interested in the peeling stickers on the shelter, the cigarette butts on the floor. He smiles.

‘I should be getting back,’ I say, ‘they’ll be sending out a search party.’

He nods. He pushes the gravel around with his shoe. My stomach’s aching from laughing so much. The nausea’s still there but it’s not as bad. The blackbird still singing. I want to say something about May but it’s not my place. I want to say She’s different every day. Don’t take it personally. Just talk to her. Keep trying. Ask her about Ned.

‘See you inside,’ he says.

Back in the lounge they’ve moved onto Frank Sinatra. May’s asleep in her chair by the radiator. I step right into the action as though I’ve never been away. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars. Alison winks at me from the corner. They sing. It’s always surprising. People you can’t get any sense out of suddenly open up and sing all the words as though they haven’t got a problem with forgetting after all. I look around for George and Margaret. He’s in a chair over by the door shaking his head and pushing her arm away. He isn’t singing. He’s saying something but I can’t hear it above the music. It might not even be words. I walk over and crouch down in front of him so he can see my face. I put my hand on his leg to let him know I’m here but it’s the wrong thing to do. He kicks his leg out hard and catches me right on my thigh. It’s a reflex. It’s not personal but it feels personal. The pain. I feel sick again for a minute and have to stand up and bend over.

‘George!’ she’s saying it over and over, but he won’t look at her and Alison is next to me before I know it.

‘Ok,’ she says, ‘Are you hurt, Sana?’

I rub my leg and wave her away. It’s not a big deal.