She had to know, he kept telling himself as the rest of the cast crowded round. Peaseblossom and Mustardseed sat Juliet up gently in a moment or two, murmured quietly to her.

The show went on: Widowers’ Houses had closed, A Midsummer Night’s Dream was opening; Juliet fluttered and fluted as Titania in diaphanous gowns, terrified of blood showing through, smiled lovingly at Bottom wearing his ass’s head, charmed the audience in a brittle sort of way, made them laugh. Harry playing Snug the Joiner watched her woodenly, was not very good in his part, answered shortly when the director said he must pull himself together, whatever was bothering him. He ate fish and chips late at night in the street, walking along fast, stuffing them into his mouth, ashamed.

One night he decided he would go to the piece of waste ground, down by the railway station that he’d heard about. That night he was attacked, and a stranger came to his aid.

Next morning Juliet came to Harry’s digs while he was still in bed. It was Saturday morning, their morning off. She walked, uninvited, into his room.

‘What’s wrong with your face?’ she said.

One of his eyes was swollen and closed, and there was blood on his face and on the bedclothes. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled angrily, ‘nothing, nothing. Go away.’

She stood there so pale and so somehow rigid in the doorway of his room that it seemed as if she might snap.

‘Take me tonight,’ she said, ‘after the show. In my car.’

‘Don’t be silly Juliet.’

‘Silly?’ She looked at him scornfully. ‘You think I’m silly?’

‘No, no I don’t of course, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. What’s the point?’

‘You must have thought there was a point,’ she retorted bitterly, ‘you’re the one who was so keen to give me the news.’

Harry blushed under his swollen eye.

‘I want to see them,’ she said obstinately, ‘that’s all. They should’ve told me. You know where they are, you come with me.’

‘It’s miles away, in Brighton.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘He’s probably filming in Aberdeen,’ said Harry weakly, as Juliet stood there.

It was guilt perhaps that made him agree finally. Or still perhaps a perverse feeling of wanting to see what would happen.

The roads were icy, they had to drive carefully, it was almost two in the morning when they arrived. They could hear the sea, smell the sea through the window that Juliet opened as they consulted a map, drove around the grassy centre of the street of Georgian houses known as The Crescent.

The curtains were drawn but the lights in the downstairs front room were on. Terence’s car was parked outside.