Even though a long while had passed since then, he could never stop it welling up. At what point had his mourning become pathological? When would he stop palming his hands against the memory, trying to warm himself? It seemed closer in time to him now than for many years. He was lashed to it like a convict. Healing from her loss would be the miracle.

‘Senhor João?’ It’s Miguel, wondering what smiles followed by sudden sobs can have got into his normally taciturn customer. ‘Another cup of tea?’

He tries not to look up. ‘No, thanks, Miguel,’ and reaches through the blur for a paper napkin.

Chapter Twenty-two

DYER TUCKED THE FOLDER BACK into his bag, shrugged his arms into Marvar’s silk-lined sleeves, paid the bill and left. It was an odd sensation to walk through the Covered Market in another man’s overcoat. Already, his fingertips had encountered a cough-sweet that smelled of Marvar’s breath wrapped in tissue paper. He felt grains of sand in the pockets.

Marvar didn’t have this coat when he revisited the sandpit on Sunday; it was hanging up in Dyer’s cupboard. Had Marvar left it deliberately as a parting gift, was he shedding his skin even then?

Compelled to walk at a different gait – the coat was warm, but too big, and it hung on him like one of Vivien’s tea cosies – Dyer passed the fish counter, the shoe shop, the hairdresser, Ben’s Cookies, out into the High Street.

A bell struck nine. He yearned for the day before yesterday, and for the day before that. If he hadn’t stopped to speak with Marvar outside the University Press. If he hadn’t driven at midnight to the Phoenix. The bag on his shoulder weighed as if it had a body in it.

Dyer heard out the chimes and picked up his pace. He had walked slowly this morning to the Covered Market, as though Marvar would appear if he took his time. It was how he had walked before. He imagined that he would catch sight of her and then run and catch up, and they would walk on together.

His steps now were nervous, shorter. The people he passed knew nothing of the load he carried. A slip of paper could be so heavy.

Updark had given him his card – Dyer had left it on the bookcase beside the phone. He would overcome his reservations about the man and ring him when he got home. But the decision made, Dyer still felt uneasy. He stared down and jumped over a pavement crack.