She poured some more coffee and handed it to him.

‘Sit down and drink it. Don’t go.’

‘I …’ He looked uneasily towards the door.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake sit down and pay no attention to him.’

‘Yes, do please sit down,’ said the doctor pleasantly. ‘Do what she says. It’s easier in the long run.’

Lar sat down and took a sip from his mug. It was pretty disgusting. They sat in silence for a long time. The doctor yawned. He picked up his mug of coffee and inspected it.

‘As I thought. Undrinkable.’

‘Why don’t you just go home?’

‘This is a house call. I’m drawing it out as long as I can and then my secretary will be able to send you a huge bill.’

‘Why don’t you go and make a house call with Mother?’

‘Your mother has nothing wrong with her.’

‘She will have after I’ve dealt with her.’

‘Come, come, Clara. You’re being a bit unfair. She just has your best interests at heart. I’ll have to dilute this poison with milk.’

‘It’s in the fridge.’ She didn’t move to get it and neither did he.

Lar got up and went over to the fridge. He opened the door and took out a carton of milk. Behind him he heard Clara’s voice sink to an angry whisper.

‘Just fuck off, Doctor.’

The doctor didn’t reply.

Lar put the carton on the table and sat down again. He hated other people’s rows. In fact, he hated all rows. Caitlin had found it to be one of the unsatisfactory things about him, his facility for escaping when even a small argument was in the offing. ‘You disappear, become invisible. It’s like talking to a shadow on the wall. You don’t seem to realise that people need a good fight sometimes.’

He remembered, they had been standing by their bedroom window and the sea below and the sky had been for a brief few minutes one and the same colour, each element disturbed either by racing white waves or tiny clouds that seemed to have taken on the rhythm of the waves below them.

‘Look. We are submerged,’ he had said, and he remembered her laughing at his inattention.

‘How long are you planning on staying?’

Lar realised that the doctor was talking to him.

‘Ah, sorry. Term starts next week.’ He avoided answering the question.

‘You’re a teacher?’

‘Yes. Mathematics.’

‘Are you going to go back?’

Lar hesitated.

‘I think so,’ he said at last. He then realised that Clara was no longer there; at some moment as he had lingered in the past, she must have left the room.

‘Where’s Clara?’

‘She was about to hit me, but decided to leave the room instead. I actually think she may be in the garden. Her mother told me your very tragic story.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Thanks.’

‘Sometimes people can help, you know.’