He didn’t think Larry understood a thing. Larry was thinking about Larry. Or about Kirsty or America or something. But not about Alice. Of course he cared, they all cared, but the others were just looking on, and that wasn’t enough. He didn’t believe any of them could see what he saw: the complete impossibility of letting it go on and on for weeks and months. But what could he do? Did he still believe in fairytales? In stumbling across a magic cure? He thought perhaps he did, and this seemed funny in an utterly bleak sort of way, and he was laughing to himself when Una tapped on the timber by the open door.

‘I didn’t know it was a comedy,’ she said.

‘Only in parts,’ said Alec.

She stepped into the shed. ‘Is that him?’ She pointed to the portrait of Lázár in the Luxembourg which Alec had pinned to the edge of the shelf. ‘What’s that he’s carrying?’

‘A cake perhaps. Or a bomb.’

‘I’d say he’s got a kind face, so it’s probably a cake.’

‘Probably.’

He studied her while she studied Lázár. A slight pout to her lower lip. Pale lashes. Grey eyes touched with violet. A little round scar on the side of her nose as if once she wore a stud there. She had on a blue cotton dress, sleeveless, and her shoulders were tanned, honey-brown against the just visible plain white strap of her bra. She must have been lying in the sun at the weekends, and he imagined her with a boyfriend, a doctor perhaps, who had a boat or a convertible. Someone like a young Brando.

‘What was your mother saying?’ she asked.

He told her about the house.

She nodded. ‘Let’s see how we get on. You’re going to need to keep a closer eye on her now.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ve put the Dexamethasone on top of the chest with a note explaining the routine. Will you make sure she takes it? We don’t want her back in the hospital if we can help it.’

‘I’ll put it on the list,’ he said.

‘I like your brother,’ she said.

‘We’re very different.’

‘Oh, I’m not so sure of that,’ she said. ‘Are you nearly finished with the play?’

‘It’s coming on.’

‘That’s grand.’

Dennis Osbourne, red-faced from his exertions, was trying to conceal himself behind a slender tree in the orchard. Una waited, smiling at him, until Ella came through the long grass and captured him.

‘Your daddy wants you,’ she said, holding out her hand to the girl. ‘Sorry to spoil your game, Reverend.’

‘I need a sit-down,’ he said. ‘How’s Alice?’

‘Back on the English now. She’s getting quite mischievous, isn’t she?’

‘Poor woman,’ said the reverend, squatting awkwardly on the grass. ‘Is there anything I can do?’