She didn’t know how long she sat like that, watching the dawn break, feeling it break. Very slowly the sky became lighter, and as the sun rose above the scissored line of the trees, the birds flung themselves into furious song. At last, she stood up and made her way down the slope to the narrow river that rippled and bucked over the stones. She squatted down and trailed her fingers in the water, which was cool but not icy. Then she tugged off her shorts and knickers, lifted her tee-shirt over her head, and stepped off the bank. It was deeper than she’d expected, up to her thighs. She took a deep breath and pushed out for the middle of the flow, where the current was swift.

Oh, but it was glorious! Cold, fast, clean. She plunged beneath the water, which was dark because of the stone bed, and quite clear. She could see through blinking open eyes her pale body, her limbs suddenly graceful in the water, her spread hands like starfish, silver baubles of air popping on her skin; bubbles of light streaming up to the surface. She came up for breath, gasping and treading water, then struck upstream, back to where her clothes lay in a heap on the bank. She lay on her back and stared into the lightening sky. A hawk there in the clearing. Dived down again, stretched her body into an arrow flying along the river bed, following her fingers down to the bottom, down to the very depths.

This was freedom. Freedom isn’t a one-night stand with a sad stranger in a cheap hotel, drowning out memories with wine and the feel of another’s misery. Freedom is being all alone and coming face to face with yourself and not turning away; freedom is swimming naked and exulting in a cold river at dawn; and it’s just you, just you and no one left to help you and hold you and ward off harm. And you know that this dark clarity isn’t happiness or unhappiness, it’s something different from anything you’ve ever felt before. Scary as a knife to the heart. That’s freedom. That’s where you will find your solace, all alone.

Twenty-one

‘Here.’ Juliet put a cafetière of very dark coffee on the table in front of Irene, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. ‘Get this down you.’

‘Lovely.’

Irene stretched her bare legs luxuriously. She’d had a shower, washed her hair, brushed her teeth, put on her faded blue sun dress, and now she and Juliet were sitting in the garden, under the shade of a green parasol, while Jem biked to the bakery to buy fresh bread. In the distance, she could see Montpellier, its towers and spires and red-tiled roofs hazy in the hot sunlight.

‘You look dreadful, like something the cat brought in.’

‘Thanks very much!’ Irene sipped at the burning coffee.