The afternoon was at peace. The trees lived. He was beginning to grow accustomed to the many greens and blues and browns. The sounds and silences of it were only as oppressive or as restful as he felt looking at them. It wasn’t a good place or a bad place, it was just a place. He thought of home. He pictured their little flat in Holloway; the sofa, and each of the four mismatched wooden chairs at the pine table. In his mind’s eye, he saw their bedroom, and the laundry basket, spilling clothes; their bed as they left it every morning, with the imprints of the way they had slept, like a map of their night together. He felt a longing for the grey city comfort of the lives they had run away from. They had being doing all right. They didn’t need to travel for months. They could go home if she wanted. The Cushion was plenty for two or three weeks, and some left over, while he found himself a job. She didn’t want to call Arun, and get involved with bank transfers and sums, and nor did he. They weren’t lost. They just needed a holiday. Holiday. The word had felt so conventional and so restrictive. Now it sang with pleasure and fun. He stopped going towards the gate and the empty road. His body felt light and easy. It was a perfect idea. He had to tell Bea. They could work on everything else. It was simpler than they thought. He wondered if she really meant it, about using all her money for good. He couldn’t tell if it would be too big a change for her. He didn’t want her to be changed. He began to turn back towards to the hotel. Then he heard a car, and paused. He checked his phone. Almost quarter past four.

The sound of the car got louder, and then it came through the gates towards him. For a second he stared at it, thinking slowly that maybe he had it wrong, and it wasn’t the same bright blue BMW, but it got closer, and he saw Russ behind the wheel, and he knew that Russ had seen him.

‘BEA!’ he shouted, over his shoulder.

He started for the hotel. He couldn’t see her at the window. He didn’t know if she’d heard. The car was crawling behind him, slowly, and he turned to face it. He didn’t want to shout for her again, or look like he was panicking. He reached for his phone. Russ was looking through the windscreen at him. But then he stopped, and reversed, slowly, out again, and went. Dan couldn’t see the car. He hesitated, undecided, and looked behind, towards the first-floor window, then back again, to the empty gateway.