You looked into the fire. “I like it. I can see why it’s not officially published.”

Our eyes met for a moment, and you smiled.

“Why did you stop coming to the river?”

I turned my head away. No words came to me. Finally I looked up and saw you looking at me with tenderness.

“Don’t be scared.”

The way you said this—softly, perfectly calm—pierced right through me. The flames crackled. I nodded; that’s all I could do. You smiled, dissolving the tension, your teeth flashing in the light of the fire. We sat there for a while, in our private silence, worlds shifting in me.

“I’m going to the lake district tomorrow,” you said. “I’ve never been, and I always wanted to go. And I thought this was the moment, before returning to the city, before real work begins. There are some great places out there. Lakes, rivers. I have a tent and all.” You paused, and our eyes met again for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Do you want to come with me?”

Chapter 3

I remember the bus leaving with the others, and you and I staying behind. It was an overcast day. Rucksacks on our backs, hands around the straps, we walked up the country road, hoping to hitch a ride. I was nervous and we talked little, but somehow the silence between us was a pact. I felt like a small bird set loose, scared and exhilarated by the void before me.

The first car that stopped took us east. The driver, a middle-aged man, eyed us from time to time but asked no questions. We drove silently along country avenues lined with tall chestnut trees, past fields bordered by poppies. I had no idea where we were. We had no map and there were few road signs, but even if there had been more, the names of the places would have meant nothing to me. While I took it in, this nameless expanse, you slept with your face against the window.

At some point in the afternoon the driver let us out at a country junction. You tore a coupon from your hitchhiker’s booklet and passed it to him.

“Hope you send it in and win a hair dryer or something!” you cried, and swung the doors shut. He nodded and sped off into the horizon.

A strong, humid wind blew into us. The sky was filled with black clouds, and the air felt electric. Then, as if someone had pushed a button, rain started to fall. There was no maybe, no in between. It poured without any inhibition, drops heavy like paint, a million of them, and us caught in the middle of the road with our bags and no umbrella.

“Quick!” you cried. “Over there by the tree!”