‘Yes,’ said Alec. He had not thought of it like this but it was true. He felt he had witnessed something savage, like a beating.

‘I’m fond of your mother,’ said Brando. ‘She’s a very courageous woman.’

‘I know,’ said Alec. He wanted to get this over with. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might make a fool of himself in front of this man. Might be offered a tissue from the box on the desk.

‘We’ll keep her in for a while. Perhaps persuade her to start a course of radiation therapy, though naturally, it’s her decision. I’ll give you a call once we’ve got her settled. Then you can come in and see her. How’s that?’

In the evening Una called at Brooklands on her way home. They sat in the kitchen as the light went down and she had tried to comfort him, hinting that she could arrange for something that might help him manage. A prescription. Tablets. She had even – very briefly – held his hand, as though inviting him to unburden himself, but though it had tempted him, he had not known where to begin, what form of words, and so had kept up an exhausting and imbecilic denial. ‘I’m fine now. Absolutely fine. Thank you.’

As soon as she left he masturbated in the downstairs toilet for the sheer physical shock of an orgasm, then slept, dreamlessly, curled on the end of Alice’s bed. In some reach of the night the phone had rung but he didn’t answer it. The next day he rose early, busying himself with small tasks, throwing out dead flowers, sweeping the terrace. He found a jar of beeswax and spent nearly two hours rubbing it into the dining-room table until his fingers ached. He made lists. Hand-washed a pair of his shirts.

When he could think of nothing else, he went out to the car and sat there with the keys in his hand, staring through the windscreen at shadows that hung like phantom laundry from the trees lining the drive. It was the same on Friday, though then he had gone out to the car three or four times, even starting the engine and letting it idle for a while before he switched it off again. In his head, time moved with the starts and silences of a faulty machine. He did not wind his father’s clocks and they began to chime more erratically. Some had stopped altogether. The house grew stiller.

Osbourne startled him, tapping on the glass of the summerhouse window. For a moment they peered at each other like utter strangers. Then Alec came out and they shook hands.