“He left yesterday, before I got the news, for the record. He’s not that much of an arsehole.”

“Why do you care how much of an arsehole I think Ralph is?”

“Rev, what’s happening with my life?”

He hears crunching, and she says indistinctly, “If I could give you the answer to that, I’d be a lot wiser. You’ll be all right.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Will you feed my cat while I’m gone?”

“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll come with you.”

“What, to Singapore?”

“I’m due a trip anyway. Haven’t been for a couple of years, and you know I need to stay in touch with what’s going on.” Revathi’s books and articles very much depend on her being ahead of the curve on Southeast Asia, packaging trends and developments into neatly understood gobbets for consumption in airport lounges and board rooms. “Hey, I have air miles and an expense account, I’m happy to come. You sound like you could use the company.”

“I really could. But are you sure?”

“What else would I be doing?”

After hanging up, Henry remains prone on the sofa for quite a while, watching the waning sun paint long shadows across the ceiling. When it’s almost too dark to see, he shambles to the fridge and mechanically starts eating the most perishable things, using a spoon for propriety’s sake but still spilling brown sauce down his front.

It doesn’t take him long to pack. Most of his clothes are completely unsuited to the tropics, so it’s a simple matter of packing everything short-sleeved and lightweight. More books than he could possibly read on such a short trip, but he doesn’t know what he’ll be in the mood for. The cat starts sulking when she sees the suitcase, and he has to placate her with an extra treat. He sends an e-mail, arranging for a grad student to feed her. His phone pings—Revathi, checking his travel details so she can book herself on the same flight.

This is a good opportunity to move Ralph’s detritus out of his flat. There is nothing valuable enough to return, so he bags up the random garments and trashy paperbacks for Oxfam, and bins the extra toothbrush. The relationship wasn’t long enough to be worth mourning, but he still feels—not sad exactly, but weary. It would have been nice, just for once— But never mind, a trip away will scrub this ridiculous episode from his mind.

When Henry first moved away from Singapore, he didn’t go back for a long time. There was something about the thought of returning that filled him with claustrophobia, as if he might somehow be prevented from leaving again. He’s more secure now, after the many decades here and the “indefinite leave to remain” stamp in his passport, though recent developments have made him nervous—there have been some horror stories, people deported for the tiniest infraction. Still, Singapore doesn’t allow dual citizenship, and he isn’t yet prepared to cross over completely to the other side.