Sally smiled with false cheer and pushed her chair back noisily. She said to Tania, ‘How about coffee? I’ll go and make some. Do you want to help?’ Tania didn’t move. ‘That’s all right, I’ll get it.’ She bustled quickly off to the kitchen, and from the other room Tania could hear Bannerman’s voice in irritable conversation with someone on the phone.

The glow of her day was fading now, like the sun setting behind the rooftops. She knew that Bannerman would take her back to the hospital now. She’d known it all day, but had buried the thought. Out of reach, out of sight, out of mind. Wasn’t that the key to survival? The ability to grasp happiness when it came without looking beyond it.

Whatever the future held for her, nothing could erase the memory of today. Somehow she felt that this man who had come into her life would always be there for her. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in words he thought she hadn’t heard last night. Knew that each of them could fill an empty place in the other’s life. He would keep her safe from . . . she glanced at the drawing on the desk . . . from him.

She wondered then why she had not drawn the face. She had no recollection of the interruption that prevented her from finishing it. Would Neil be pleased, she wondered, if she drew the face now? But she had a better idea. Something that would say more. She tore a strip of paper off the foot of one of her drawings and reached for the pencil. It was always difficult for her to come to terms with words on paper. She squeezed the pencil until her fingers went white and she began, with great difficulty, to sort out letters in the right order.

It was strange how, when she drew, the pencil rested easily between her fingers and flew across the page with such fluidity. Now the letters formed themselves clumsily, and the effort of it drained her. When she had finished, it felt as though it had taken hours. Just three words.

Quickly, nervously, she folded the paper and slipped the note into the right-hand pocket of Bannerman’s jacket. Then she ran her hand over the softness of the brown cord and put her face close to it. It felt soft and smelled of Bannerman.

III

When he left Tania’s bedroom, Bannerman was depressed and irritable. He felt guilty about confronting the child with her drawing. She deserved better than that. And yet it had confirmed things now beyond doubt. There might even have been more to come. He snatched the phone.

‘Bannerman.’

‘It’s Platt. I’ve been waiting for your call.’