I was growing tired of the subject. It was past the time in the evening when Jo and I made internet contact. I also wanted some time to myself – I was desperate to look around on the internet and explore just how bad the financial crisis had become. It was no longer of purely academic interest to me, if it ever had been. I had much on my mind. And Spoder had been here at the house since late afternoon.

‘Will you leave those pages with me?’

‘These are photocopies – the originals are locked away at my apartment. Are you OK reading his handwriting?’

I glanced again at the top page. The handwriting was large, squarish, obviously put down slowly and carefully, a childish hand, intended to be legible. The writer in me winced at the spelling mistakes – I saw five in the first couple of paragraphs. It’s a writer’s curse to notice such errors, another kind of quest for perfection. As usual I felt guiltily supercilious for noticing.

‘I can manage,’ I said.

Spoder left the notes lying on the long table in my kitchen. I glanced at them again, put them aside.

I wanted Jo, and as soon as Spoder’s motorbike roared away into the distance I put in the call. She was waiting. We spoke for an hour, mostly about the work she had been doing, and would be completing the next day. She showed me several photos of her set designs. I was pleased for her and impressed, and from what she told me it sounded as if the artistic director of the theatre was too.

Later we turned, inevitably, to the problem of money, but even in this she was optimistic. She told me that the next day, before she flew home, the theatre would be paying her the fee, and she had already arranged for it to be settled in cash, in thalers.

I said: ‘Spoder stayed for dinner this evening. I thought he would never go.’

‘Did you make him an omelette? He likes eggs.’ She was invoking a private joke: Spoder invariably said he was not hungry, but ate anything that was given him. Jo always said we should keep eggs on hand, a quick fix, an easy dish to come up with for him at short notice.

‘You left a lump of cheese in the fridge. And there were some eggs. I’ll go out tomorrow and buy some more food. I’ve enough cash for that.’

We talked until late, and when we finally said goodnight I was feeling happier than I had for several days. I went around the house, following a recent habit: making sure every window, door and screen was locked. I was irritated with myself for doing so, but I did it anyway.