‘Well, I’m sorry. That was a bit daft, but I thought it was something amazing. Something weird. I needed somebody else to see it too.’

‘It’s going to rain,’ said Lar, removing his hand from hers.

The doctor stared down the road towards the distant grey hills, his face quite weary now. He must be into his fifties, thought Lar; he looks like he needs a rest, or maybe just silence as he said himself, quite a lot of silence. A fat drop fell on the side of his face.

‘No, you’re not daft,’ said the doctor. ‘It was strange surely.’

‘Do you think the whole city was like that? Spotlit? Under someone’s microscope for a minute or two?’

‘No, no. The trees on the other side of the road were black. It was just us. God had us for a moment in His eye. Just us.’

‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing? What do you think, Lar? You’re probably the only one here who believes in God.’

‘I think we’re going to get soaking wet. Yet again. I’ll have to take off my trousers and dry them by your stove. Again, again.’ The drops were coming faster now, exploding as they landed on his face and arms. He turned and hurried along the path and into the house.

She looked at the doctor.

‘You’re tired.’

He nodded.

‘Come on back into the house and I’ll make you a proper cup of coffee. I feel amazingly light-hearted. Almost well again. I’ll soon be able to run away from my mother once more.’

Meanwhile … back in New York

The Gingerbread Woman

(continued)

I can hear their soft voices drifting from the kitchen. Sometimes a little silence and then the murmur starts again. The doctor seems quite determined not to go; maybe when I set off on my next voyage he and Lar will set up house here together. Why do I constantly have such facetious thoughts clogging up my mind? Perhaps this is the reason why I have never become a highly regarded novelist or a major academic, or at any rate some person of substance.

Is humorous self-deprecation a symptom of that middle-class malaise called complacency? What am I doing tapping such nonsense into the seemingly insatiable maw of this miraculous machine? Passing time? And the machine answers sleepily.

ccrrrm.

Its notes are almost musical.

pllling … save now or cancel … crrrm.

If only I could so easily cancel the last year of my life.

ttt ttt ttt clllm. You may lose material if you continue.

Let’s not lose anything.

Let us see what my story looks like after it has been recollected in a certain degree of tranquillity.

James went away for a week.