Alec nodded, but Larry reckoned he had heard no more than one word in three. There were changes in his brother, certain unsettling alterations that dated from that fuss between them in the kitchen. It wasn’t just the distractedness, the sense of him looking in all the time at some demanding secret; there was a new control, a self-discipline that seemed at times to verge upon the manic, but which was nonetheless somehow effective. The little-boy-lost look was gone, that air of helplessness and incipient panic that had been so obvious at Heathrow. What underlay these changes was hard to say, but the night before last, out under the stars for a smoke, trying to put his own thoughts in order, Larry had seen through the summerhouse window his brother in agitated debate – gesturing, grimacing, pressing his brow – all this despite his being utterly alone in there. A troubling sight (and a good deal more than he had wanted to see), for what question was it that needed such emphasis, such violent settlement?

He raised an arm and waved to Una, who was coming towards them in a dress the colour of the grass. ‘Guess what?’ said Larry. ‘Alec’s going to come and live in America.’

‘Is that so?’

‘He won’t go without you,’ said Larry.

She grinned, touched her hair. ‘What time are your guests coming?’ she asked.

‘Around three,’ said Alec. ‘Though there won’t be many.’ ‘Do you think Mum can stay down for long?’ asked Larry.

‘I’d say she’d be fine for an hour. I’m going to see her now. Will you bring her down when she’s ready?’

‘Call me,’ said Larry.

In Alice’s bedroom a bluebottle flew revolutions in the shaded air. Una opened the curtains and sat by the bed, then lifted one of Alice’s hands from the covers and cradled it between her own. Though Alice had survived the fall, the shock of it had snapped something in her that would not show up on X-rays or CAT scans. A thread, or a delicate valve like the ones inside the old TV sets, something that could not be repaired and which had left her like this, struggling to live, struggling to die, waiting for the next fall, the next seizure, the next small-hours crisis.