His words surprised her, and as she fell silent he noticed all the ways in which she’d changed. Her eyes, once shy and unsure, now pooled with self-assurance. Her words were measured, and despite what had transpired between them, her smile was warm and forth-coming. She ignored his dig. ‘I catch you on-screen occasionally,’ she said, and now it was his turn to be surprised. Their parting had been so sudden and her reaction so severe that he had assumed she had cut him out of all existence, like taking scissors to old photographs. That she hadn’t, pissed him off.

‘Where are you staying?’ she said.

‘The cottage.’

‘You still have that?’

‘Never got around to selling. Not much changes here, does it? Same place, same city, same people, same bed… Everything’s the same… Well, almost everything…’ Nothing was the same. Not since she’d left. They were skirting around an elephant and he wanted to name it and shame her, along with all the other pent-up accusations, but the words wouldn’t come. He searched her face for something, anything, anything that would betray her feelings. And then he saw it, that look in her eyes, the way she gently reached up and touched her neck, her fingers spread wide, and he knew that she too was caught up in the folding back of time.

She changed the subject quickly, and he accepted that small talk was all there was for now. From trivial things, to work – his and hers – to politics, science, old friends; they spoke, and all the while he stole snatches of her, each blink of the eye a mental snapshot, greedily stashing them in his mind for days when things were dark and his memory unforgiving. The bright young thing he’d fallen in love with all those years ago had become a woman. And while he saw that she was now cleverer and more accomplished, he felt sadness for the innocence they had both lost. Standing before her he understood exactly why no one had yet managed to replace her in his affections. She was simply the most extraordinary person he had ever met. His greatest misfortune was that he had met her too young.

Their conversation had reached a natural pause when Bazigh Khan walked by, carrying a plate of precariously balanced meats, his hair the colour of the flames on which the barbecue was to be cooked.

‘Would you like some?’ asked Elyas.

‘Actually, don’t say anything but…I’m vegan,’ said Jia, letting Elyas in on her secret.

‘Bloody hell! Is there anything you can eat here? They’ve carved up an entire abattoir!’ said Elyas. His eyes met hers and they laughed as they used to, years ago.