She and Nat had a wedding to prepare. Often she wished they could have simply gone to the register office the two of them, with a couple of friends for witnesses. But Nat had said that it was a great excuse for a party and his mother would never forgive him if her son didn’t have a proper wedding and from there it had grown like a fungus. It had taken months to settle on the right venue and now that that was settled, there was the catering and the flowers and checking the numbers and there was her dress. The gathering migraine sent out a little flash of pain as Jude allowed herself to think about that. She didn’t wear long dresses and shoes with heels; she wore men’s suits from charity shops, jumpsuits, jeans, walking boots and sandals and pumps, anything that made her feel agile, ready for a quick getaway. But Nat wrinkled his nose when she said that and then laughed anxiously, trying to make it into a joke. He wanted her to be a bride; he was anticipating her in soft focus, wearing something pale and feminine as she looked at him with tenderness and said, “I do.”

She felt guilty complaining, even to herself. Nat was doing the hard work. Every so often he would come to her with a choice. Would she like this or that? This food? That wine? This decoration?

Her phone rang and she knew who it was before she even looked. When she worked nights, it was as if she and Nat were in different time zones, even though they were living together. She would get home, exhausted, just as he was leaving for his office in Lambeth, where he worked as a public health project officer. Sometimes she would miss him altogether.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Any dramas?”

“Just the usual.”

The events of the night were already fading, like when she woke after a deep sleep and could feel the memories of her dreams slipping away.

“Shall we meet for breakfast? I can set off in a few minutes.”

“Lovely. Usual place then.”

Normally she left the hospital by the side entrance, but when she reached the ground floor she turned and headed for the main entrance.

In the reception area, there were a number of people around, sitting on benches, clustered in groups, talking, reading, waiting.

“You look different,” said a voice. “But you also look exactly the same.”

Jude had forgotten that someone was waiting to see her.

She turned her head and there he was: he was tall, about her own age, dark tangled hair, bearded, eyes that were almost black. He was dressed in jeans and a battered gray jacket. He had a richly patterned cotton scarf knotted around his neck.

“You’re hard to track down,” he said.

She didn’t recognize him.

And then she recognized him.

“You’re kidding,” she said, a smile forming.

It was Liam.