It had been an oppressive day, the air so heavy I was grateful to the house for protecting me from it; for keeping the weight of all that atmosphere off my head. Even so, I leaned forward on the step and cradled the back of my head with my hands. As the evening drew in, the light took on a yellow tinge; I’d seen on the news that there was dust in the air from the Sahara, blown to us on a high, southerly wind – now, as the angle of the sun changed, the dust somehow filtered the light. The hallway looked liverish, sick. From somewhere came the sound of a woman singing a silly nursery rhyme and the ripple of a toddler’s infectious laughter.

When I finally heard the sound of a car draw to a halt – doors banging – and the sound of someone dragging a case along the path, I jumped up, dazed, my bottom numb from the hard stair. Outside, I heard Grace curse as her bag got stuck in the cracks of the path, then grunt as she lifted it, yet her presence still came as a surprise, as if somewhere deep down I’d suspected she might not turn up at all.

I stiffened as she rang the doorbell, and then hesitated behind the door for a few moments before I sprung the lock, breathing fast, acutely aware that I was separated from Grace for the first time in four years by nothing more than a piece of wood. Outside, I could feel the pulse of her energy; on the inside of the house, my own energy reached towards her – fingers grasping at the air, clawing at her – just as it had that first day she’d appeared at my door at university. My breath came in shudders; after all the anticipation, all the planning, the preparation and the waiting, she was finally here.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

‘Abi!’ Grace said, and we took each other in, our eyes trying not to show their greed for details. She looked slightly heavier than she’d been four years ago; bags under her eyes were concealed but obviously there; her freckles now hidden under foundation; her cheekbones accentuated with blusher. What differences did she see in me now I was older and married? Could she see that I was stronger? Was I stronger?

‘Hey, Grace,’ I said, shy like a schoolgirl. ‘Come in,’ and she stepped inside, then held open her arms to me. The hug was awkward, and she stepped back quickly as I drank in the sight of her, the smell of her, the substance of her; this person whom I’d successfully banished from my thoughts for the past four years.

‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘As if you had a choice.’

Twenty-Two