It’s impossible not to think of time passing. Even in the city. We are all of the age where we turn our hands over repeatedly, examine our faces in mirrors, watch the past recede. We sit on the balcony listening to Lou Reed. We have not said anything of survival. For most people the point is to live.

That night I write to Lucia, which, in a way, is writing to myself:

I want to take you to Venice to meet Papi and Marcella. Now that I’ve had the idea, everything is clear. It’s not about living away from the world but living in it. It’s a longer journey than you’re used to making, but I’ll give you the window seat, Lucy, and you can sit with your knee tucked into your arm, and yes, we’ll bring your friends. You have to climb many steps to Papi’s house, though. It’s at the corner of a street where there are cafés and pigeons. We’ll take the vaporettos to the islands, darling, and I’ll show you everything. We can’t take the dogs with us, but Kavitha will look after them. Kavitha is going to stay with us for some time. Everything will be different. You’ll like Venice, I think. There are so many ice-cream shops and whenever you’re tired of walking we can sit on a bench, or get into a gondola. They glide like swans. You look up, Lucy, and you see buildings, old as forests. At night when you close your eyes you hear the soft sounds on the water, and it’ll be like being home, listening to the sea.

I follow Teacher to the new wing. The two buildings are separated by a concrete courtyard. There’s a poster hanging lopsidedly along the front wall, made especially for the inauguration ceremony. The words Sneha Centre are written in bold English, there is more writing below in Tamil. A portrait of Teacher in a Victorian-style frame dominates the poster. It’s an old photograph. She looks more determined in it than she does in real life.

‘I don’t know why they want to waste money on such things.’ Teacher flushes as we walk by. ‘But the staff like to do all this. It’s a way of honouring me, they say.’

I think of Lucy in her new room. Napkins, socks and an oven mitt arranged like a fan around her. If there’s a window, she’ll be sitting by it, so she can catch the sun. She hums softly. She isn’t waiting.