‘Half a mo,’ said Martin, kneeling on the far side of the bed. ‘What have we here?’ He scrabbled under the bed. ‘Look!’ He held out a handful of pills. ‘He spilled the pills. I don’t suppose he swallowed more than one or two.’ He smiled at Laura across Claud’s body. ‘My bet is he’s just plain stoned.’ He watched Laura with interest. Her face was grey and taut as she stared back at him. She said, ‘Black coffee, d’you think?’

‘I’ll see to it.’ He left her with Claud.

When he came back she had covered Claud with blankets and was sitting beside him, holding his hand.

‘I told them downstairs the panic’s over.’ Martin poured a mug of coffee. ‘Let’s try him with this.’ He heaved Claud up, propping him with pillows. ‘Mavis seemed quite disappointed. Will you hold the cup?’

Martin held Claud, while Laura held the cup to his lips. Claud mumbled something, belched, went back to sleep.

‘No good,’ said Laura, ‘it might choke him.’

‘Matter of time,’ said Martin.

They resettled Claud on his side. ‘I don’t think a doctor is necessary,’ said Martin.

‘No,’ said Laura. ‘What did his mother say?’

‘She says his father used to do this, it’s hereditary. She’s gone home again.’

‘Didn’t she want to see him?’

‘Said not, something about other commitments.’

‘I don’t know why sensible people seem so heartless,’ Laura exclaimed passionately. ‘She is not a heartless woman.’

‘Shall you be sensible?’ Martin thought she looked ugly with fatigue and fear.

‘I shall sit with him.’ She was defensive.

‘I wasn’t suggesting you were sensible.’

‘He might be sick.’ She ignored his remark.

‘So he might.’ Martin smiled at her across Claud’s body, then looked away. Claud began to snore.

‘Were you in love with him?’ Martin caught Laura’s eye.

Laura flushed, then as he watched she grew very pale and thoughtful.

Below them in the house there were sounds of Mavis and her mother going to bed, doors opened and shut, the lavatory flushed. In the town a clock struck the hour. Martin wound his watch; the excitement was over.

‘Everyone gets at least one very bad review,’ said Martin.

‘I should have warned him if I had been around,’ Laura said.

‘But you weren’t.’

‘No.’

Martin wandered about the loft. He picked up the books Claud had used to block their entry, replaced them on the shelf, moved to Claud’s desk and began riffling through some typescript. ‘This will be his next book—’ he began to read.

‘Leave it alone,’ said Laura savagely, then, as Martin spun round startled, ‘it will be all right when he has torn most of it up. It has to be sieved, largely forgotten.’

Martin observed her defensiveness, her intensity. ‘Like life?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So you did love him?’