Tarkie? Oh my God. Tarkie?

He’s standing there, almost silhouetted in the late-afternoon sunlight, so I can’t see his face properly. But even so—and this is really weird—he looks different. Like he’s grown a couple of inches. Is he standing in a new way? Does he have a new suit?

“Tarkie,” Suze whimpers again—and as I turn back to her, I see two tears spilling onto her cheeks. The next moment she’s running so fast to Tarquin, I think she might knock him over.

The light is so bright she’s in silhouette too, so all I see is their two figures melding together in this endless, tight hug. I have no idea what’s happening within the hug, whether they’re saying things, or not saying things, or what….It’s like the black box in an airplane. I’ll find out afterward.

If Suze tells me. Which she may not. Some things are private. I mean, we’re grown-ups now. You don’t share everything. (Except, I really, really hope she tells me.)

I’m watching, transfixed, a hand to my mouth, and I can see that the other grown-ups are equally riveted. Even a few passersby have stopped to watch, and I hear one say, “Aah,” in fond tones.

“Look, Becky.” Luke has joined me. “Tarquin’s here. Have you seen?” He gestures with his head.

“Of course I’ve seen!” I hiss. “But has he forgiven her? Is it all OK? What’s he saying?”

“Their business, I would have thought,” says Luke in mild tones, and I stare at him crossly. I know all that. But this is Suze.

At that moment, my phone bleeps, and as I glance down at it, my heart skips a beat. Oh my God, Suze needs to see this. Right now. Surreptitiously, I edge a little closer to the couple, trying to hear Tarkie’s voice, trying to glean what’s going on.

“We both went a bit mad in our different ways,” Tarkie is saying, his eyes fixed firmly on Suze’s. “But that wasn’t the real me. And it wasn’t the real you either.”

“No,” gulps Suze. “No, Tarkie, it wasn’t. I don’t know what happened to me.”

“The real you isn’t that girl in L.A. with hair extensions. The real you loves…nature.” He makes a sudden sweeping gesture with his hand. “The real you loves…trees.”

There’s a long pause, and I can see Suze’s eyes skittering about with nerves.

“Um, yes,” she says at last. “Trees. Absolutely. Um…speaking of trees…” Her voice has gone all squeaky and she keeps rubbing her face. “I was thinking…wondering, really…” I can see her screwing up her courage. “How’s…how’s Owl’s Tower?”

“It’s just as it ever was,” says Tarkie. “Just as it ever was, Suze.” His eyes are grave and his voice unreadable. Poor Suze is peering at him desperately, and I can see her mouth quivering.

“So, it’s…no better?” she hazards. “No worse?”

“Suze, you know Owl’s Tower,” says Tarkie, his eyes flickering as though he’s picturing it. “You don’t need me to describe it to you.”