A fresh squall of rain hits the window; a door bangs from somewhere in the house. Eve wakes with a gasp from a nightmare that slides away before she can hold it. Her mouth has the sour taste of metal. Sorrel has disappeared, she must have gone back to her bed.

Eve props herself up on one elbow to study her sleeping husband. His looks still surprise her: the fine bones of his face and the set of his eyes, that well-shaped mouth. Her husband, the man she promised to have and to hold. She touches his hair lightly; how stupid she’s been. She behaved badly last night; having decided to end things with Martin, she let herself dance and flirt with him. It must have been the alcohol. Paul kept filling their glasses, they all drank far too much, except for Eric. He’d watched her all evening. If he’s noticed the ring’s absence, he’s kept it quiet. She’ll search the room today once he’s gone; there wasn’t time yesterday, what with cooking and the party. She’ll find it, she’s bound to. She moves closer to him. In the cool morning light, with the warmth of her husband’s body against hers, it’s hard to believe she’s been so reckless, stupidly reckless, since the summer. Well, it’s over. Thank God she saw sense in time. There are no casualties; not Eric, not Grace, and not Martin. They got away with it, just. She kisses Eric on the cheek, he murmurs and half turns away. The watch on his wrist reads eight A.M. The traffic will be thick already. She kisses him again, on the mouth this time, and he opens his eyes. He registers the light and swings his legs out of bed without a word. He’s late. He has a treeclearing project in Hampstead today; he’ll be caught in rush-hour traffic now. She gets up more slowly, her head banging with each step, and slips on Eric’s checkered shirt, discarded from the night before. She pauses outside Ash’s room. The door is open just wide enough to see his bed. It’s dark in there and very quiet. She has a hazy memory of Ash crying and of taking him up to bed very late, she can hardly remember tucking him in. Poppy and Sorrel are getting dressed in their room. They had watched her dance last night while they sat in a solemn little row with the other kids. She probably made a complete fool of herself. She groans quietly and walks downstairs slowly to avoid jarring her head.

Izzy is sitting at the table, dressed in her uniform and writing in an exercise book. Eve had forgotten about Izzy—that she stayed the night.

“Hi there. We overslept, I’m afraid.” Eve puts the kettle on, wincing at the watery light through the window.

“I know.” Izzy doesn’t look up; there are neat comb marks in her hair, still wet from the shower. She has made herself tea and is sipping it delicately. Noah climbs out of his basket, anticipating food. There is no trace of the limp he had in the summer—just as well, she forgot to have him checked by the vet.