“What’s wrong? I guess I’m just someone who lets people take advantage of me. I never learn, do I? Some pitiful creep comes up to me and says he’s lost his job, his girlfriend’s left him for another man, his father used to abuse him when he was a little boy, and I’m like, Oh, here’re my car keys, here’s my credit card, come move in with me, make yourself at home. Well, Rat, I finally did it. You would have been proud of me. I threw out Thierry. God, what a worm he was. I mean, he was so sweet at first, no one’s ever made me feel so beautiful and sexy, I really thought we had something going those first couple of years. It’s funny—I always thought if I could only get him out of my life, I’d feel liberated, but I just feel sad. And then I hear about the London bombings and I think, Oh great, I bet Rat and Morgan were on that bus, God’s punishing me …”

“Don’t worry, Mama,” says Rat. “You did the right thing; I know it’s hard, but I’m proud of you.”

“But I feel like shit!” wails Vanessa. “I’m tired of being Mother Teresa; I want someone to take care of me, for a change!”

When you’re little, you worship your mother. You want to be just like her. You want to melt into her flesh so you two will never be separated. Then you start to grow apart. Suddenly you can see through her tricks and betrayals, and you harden yourself against them. You try to make yourself so cold inside that nothing she says or does will ever touch you. It’s only much later, when you think you’re permanently numb and that you couldn’t possibly feel anything genuine for your mother even if you tried, that you realize you’ve come to love her in a new way, amused, wary, but still infinitely tender.

“I’ll be back soon,” Rat promises. “You hang in there, Mama; Morgan and I will be home in no time.”

Rat is ready to go back to Mas Cargol. People will think it’s because of the bombing and it’s a good excuse, but it isn’t. She can see that her father and Kate have grown fond of her, even to accept her as a kind of adjunct daughter. But all that means is that it’s okay to leave, because she’ll be able to come back to them again.

Everybody else in London, after the second set of terrorist bombs which exploded two weeks after the first, is dreaming about burning buses, crashing airplanes; Gillem McKane is dreaming about his mother.