I was dismayed to see he was carrying my new laptop, a gorgeous little sliver of light I’d bought just before deciding to become someone else. I had been intending to use it in bed. I had always been attracted to the instruments of my trade. Sometimes, merely buying a new pen or computer was enough to get me back to work.

“That looks good,” I said.

“Yes.” He said to his mother, “I’m borrowing this for a while. I’ll return it before Dad gets back. Have you heard from him?”

“He sent his love,” she called.

“Is that all?” he said. “He won’t mind me borrowing this, then. By the way, happy anniversary. Shame to be on your own.”

“I’ll raise a glass later,” she said.

I said, “Can I ask what anniversary it is?”

“Not my wedding anniversary,” she said, “but the anniversary of the day I met my husband. He’s away on business at the moment, the fool.”

“Why fool?”

“His breathing was painful. He couldn’t walk far. I could see it in his face, but I don’t think he knew how ill he had become. Before he started out on his jaunt across the continent, I had decided we should enjoy the time we had left together. Still, I didn’t want to put him off his pleasures.”

Mike said, “Mum, are you okay? Can I go?”

“Please do.”

He shut the front door.

I asked, “Would you like me to get going, too?”

“But I must offer you some tea. I’d feel bad if I didn’t, after you helped me.”

“You’re very trusting.”

“I noticed you looking at the books just now. No burglar or lunatic would do that.”

“Your boy is a great-looking kid.”

“He’s doing well. His girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“Really? How wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Adam will be back for the birth, I know he will.”

I went upstairs to the bathroom. Coming out, I noticed my study door was open. The books I’d been using before I left were piled on the coffee table, next to the CDs I’d bought but not yet played. I couldn’t resist sitting down at my desk. I looked at the photographs of my children at various ages. I knew where everything was, though my hands were bigger and my arms longer than before. The ink in my favorite fountain pen still flowed. I wrote a few words and shoved the paper in my pocket. I had to tear myself away.

When I returned, I sat beside Margot and poured the tea. I glanced at the wedding ring I’d bought her and said, “Where are you from?”

“Me? You’re asking me?” she said. “Do you want to know?”

“Why not?”

“No one’s much interested in women of my age.”

When she told me where she was born, and a little about her parents, I asked other questions about her early life and upbringing. I followed what occurred to me, listening and prompting.