Rachel looked at him doubtfully. ‘Oh, I don’t think—’

‘It’s dark out, there’ll be no one about,’ Toby said, before she could say no. ‘No one will even notice us. Being away might give you a little perspective about it all, don’t you think? And look – you don’t have to open up the bookshop tomorrow, do you? It’s Sunday. We can talk more then. What do you say?’

Seventeen

Eustace watched her warily from where he was curled amid her duvet, as if aware more unwanted change was afoot. Rachel felt guilty. For the first time in five years, she would not have to dodge him on the stairs in the morning.

‘I’ve left you a bowl of food for breakfast,’ she said, stroking his head. ‘And I won’t be far away. I’ll be back, I promise.’ She tried not to think about the fact that there may soon come a point where she would have to be separated from Eustace for good.

It felt strange leaving the lighthouse at night. It was late by now, the buildings of the village indistinct except where they stood in the sodium orange glow of the street lamps. The rest were blocky shapes blending into the night, lights muted behind curtains, the colours of television screens flickering in the gaps.

Inside Toby’s rental cottage, Rachel looked around the soft white furnishings as Toby took her coat.

‘This is lovely,’ she said.

He followed her encompassing glance with a faint smile. ‘It is, although I’ve resigned myself to always drinking tea, coffee and red wine with trepidation. Speaking of wine, would you like a glass?’

They took their drinks into the equally pristine living room, and Rachel could see what he meant about beverage anxiety. Everything was furnished in white.

‘I’m guessing they don’t let this place to families,’ Rachel observed. ‘Imagine what sticky little hands would do to this place.’

Toby laughed as they sat.

‘I really admire people who see a space and can visualize how it could look in a certain way,’ she added. ‘Interior design is beyond me. I’ve always… gone with what was already there.’

‘And books.’

‘And books,’ Rachel agreed. He was right. Even her little VW van had been stuffed with books, syphoned from charity shops and boot fairs as she passed through town after town. There had been a time when she hadn’t been allowed any books at all, and so as soon as she could, Rachel had tried to read everything, tried to find every escape route there was that she could carry with her in her tiny mobile home.

There was a brief silence. Rachel watched Toby’s face as she sipped her wine. He looked as if his concentration had drifted to something just out of sight. After a moment he looked back at her with a rueful smile.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Thinking about the camera obscura?’

‘Yes. I mean—’ He leaned forward, cradling his glass between his knees. ‘To think it’s been up there all that time, without anyone knowing…’