She stiffened and turned away abruptly, breathing fast. She believed in signs.

There was nobody there.

She wheeled round—nothing, nobody, just her and the night. She looked up at the stars again. Then she made up her mind.

She would do it. She would destroy them, all of them. But the one she really wanted to destroy was Norah.

1

Norah loved goodbyes. She loved moments of transition: the minutes between night and day, winter and spring, one year and the next. She loved new babies and weddings. Another life, a second chance, rebirth. A clean slate and a new pencil.

Then why are you crying?

The road stretched endlessly before her. The woods were black and impenetrable, the sky bruised by the night. Norah stared into the darkness, and in the rear-view mirror her old life receded, growing smaller and smaller, almost unreal—her job, her boyfriend, her home, the dog.

The disaster.

Norah wiped away her tears. One day she’d get over what had happened in Berlin. Life wasn’t fair, she knew that; she’d survive. The anger and bitterness would never entirely disappear, but they would fade like an old tattoo. The heaviness of the last weeks and months was beginning to lift even now, with every mile she put between herself and Berlin. She’d been right to leave.

Norah had a good six hours’ drive ahead of her. She slowed the car and rounded a bend, taking care not to cut the corner. She switched on the radio and electronic music poured out of the speakers. It was some time since she’d passed a car going the other direction and she liked it that way—liked the sound of the asphalt under the tyres, the soft music, the woods, the peace, the feeling of starting over. The last light faded. The pine forests on either side of the winding road seemed to grow denser. She steered the car around another long drawn-out bend and stepped on the accelerator. When she looked up, the sky was suddenly full of stars—a handful at first, then dozens, thousands, myriads.

A glance at the sat nav told her she had almost five hundred kilometres to go. So what? She wasn’t in a hurry. She slowed and pulled over, switched off the radio, engine and headlights, and sat and stared at the sky.

Then she got out of the car, walked to the middle of the road and threw back her head. The stars were painted with the finest of brushes. She smiled and for a moment she just stood there, looking up. She felt the cold on her cheeks first, then in her fingertips, through the thin leather of her gloves, then in her toes. She tried to remember why stars twinkled, but she’d forgotten. What was that? A cracking noise. She turned and stared into the darkness. Forest sounds. Norah laughed at the sudden thumping of her heart.

Forest sounds, her own breath. A dead straight road ahead, and above her the sky. Nothing to be afraid of. She got back in the car without hurrying, switched on the headlights, started the engine. Her handbag lay beside her on the passenger seat; a few belongings were piled in the back. That was all. The hastily packed removal boxes were waiting for her in Vienna. She was starting over; she was free. Norah turned the radio on again and changed stations. Then it was just her and the road and the music.