But nobody comes. I weep tears that will not flow from eyes that no one sees. I hurl beseeching cries at the barrier, but they go unheard. Then I remember the girl who was bent on dying. I can feel her presence close by. She’s there on the other side, and yet she’s also in the depths below me. She’s putting up a fight, but her strength is waning. I haven’t combed the sea thoroughly enough; she’s still out there, lost among tides and dreams.

Where is the girl? And where am I?

Eddie

My room is on the same floor but a different corridor. The guest room—or “family room,” as they call it here—is as plain and functional as one would imagine a monk’s cell to be: a narrow bed and a bedside table, a desk and chair, and two armchairs with a coffee table between them. The view makes up for the lack of comfort somewhat. I stare out across the roofs of the city at the setting sun painting fire on the graphite-gray clouds over London.

I spot the winking lights of a plane taking off. Maybe it’s Wilder’s. Three hours ago, as he set off along the traffic-clogged roads leading west to Heathrow, he said to me, “I can understand why you’re doing this. I’d do the same. Exactly the same. The trouble is, I’m not you. I’m the man who wants you, who wants to live with you. And who cannot share you, Edwina, not with anyone, whether that person’s a man in a coma or someone else.” He set me an ultimatum.

To be completely honest, I’d have done exactly the same in his position. Understanding, yes, but self-sacrifice? Only if I was number one. No question of being second choice.

Wilder said, “When I get back, I want you to tell me if your heart is free for me.”

I take the bottle of Talisker from the wheeled suitcase I’ve packed for the Wellington. There’s a sealed disposable plastic cup in the tiny shower cubicle–cum-bathroom. I tear off the wrapping and pour myself a large shot of whiskey.

Wilder stretched out his arms to give me a hug and said, “I’m sorry, Eddie. That ultimatum was stupid. Forget I ever mentioned it, please?”

I told him that I didn’t need an ultimatum. “My heart isn’t free,” I answered, but even as I spoke those words I wanted to beseech him to stay. I’d already gone too far, though, incapable of pausing, reaching for Wilder’s hands, holding on to him, and taking everything back. What else could I do but release him? He deserves to be loved exclusively.