Returning home from a long day at the office, she didn’t even try to fight the shivering. She’d have a proper meal and an early night tonight. Her reflection in the shop windows showed a slim figure, hurrying along in a dark coat. She decided to walk home rather than take the train; the cold air would do her good.

When she looked up, she saw that dusk had given way to night. The entire city was surging home from work. Norah studied the people coming towards her, but couldn’t catch their eyes; they were wrapped up in their own thoughts, intent on their cigarettes and phones—waking somnambulists, homing in on an invisible goal.

She turned into a street where there was a small theatre, and was about to cross the road when the pedestrian lights turned red. Norah watched a jogger who had set off as the lights were changing and just made it to the other side before the dense rush-hour traffic started up again. It was a long wait; more and more people gathered next to her, their impatience almost palpable. Tired, hungry, thirsty. Get me out of this cold! Get me home!

She watched the people on the other side of the road, also waiting to go on their way. A mum in a pink bobble hat pushing a twin buggy. A cyclist so well wrapped-up you could barely see his face. A couple of about fifty, dressed for the opera. A good-looking man in a suit who made eyes at her over the tops of the cars, which she pointedly ignored. A small group of business people, talking animatedly, all wearing the same dark coats and black shoes and carrying the same leather bags.

The traffic stopped, the lights changed, the throng spilled out onto the road. Norah had almost reached the other side when she saw her.

Appearing behind one of the business people just as the lights turned red again, she hurried past Norah without so much as a glance and was soon on the other side.

There.

Norah could see her only from behind, moving swiftly away from the crossing, but there was no doubt in her mind. The tall physique, the dark hair, the upright posture, the gait. It was her—the mysterious fortune teller. Norah was about to run after her when the traffic started up again. She cast frantic glances left and right—the cars weren’t moving fast, but they were practically bumper to bumper and none of them wanted to be the one who didn’t make it across in time. Norah cursed as the dark figure turned a corner and disappeared from sight and, raising her left arm, she stepped determinedly onto the road. A woman in an old red BMW who was forced to stop threw her a look of disgust and leant on the horn. Norah paused in the middle of the road, then went on her way, holding up another, smaller car, whose driver clearly took her for some kind of lunatic. Once on the other side, Norah set off at a run and didn’t stop until she came to the corner where the woman had disappeared.