While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad,

In such an ecstasy.”’

The nightingale sang on.

‘Pouring forth thy soul in ecstasy,’ he said. ‘Anyway. There’s more. Whatever.’

‘Go on,’ said Bea.

‘No, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘That. Is. Enough. Of. Tonight.’ He roused himself, and got up, onto his knees.

‘Only half,’ said Bea.

‘What?’ said Alex.

‘Only half in love with death,’ said Bea, hating even to say the word.

‘Yeah, of course,’ said Alex. He stood up. ‘That Keats, he couldn’t commit to anything.’

Bea and Dan lay in bed with the windows open and the curtains hooked back against the wall.

‘Alex used to learn poems by heart when he was a child,’ she whispered.

‘He’s still a child,’ said Dan.

‘He can’t help it.’

Above them the snakes or mice or rats slid about the roof space, more active than before. Dan had wanted to keep the window closed. Bea didn’t think snakes really would come in, despite what Alex said.

‘Do you think they’re playing?’

‘Playing?’ said Dan. ‘You’re weird.’

‘They’re only animals,’ she said. ‘They’re not evil.’

They listened to the sounds.

‘You’ll probably like my parents when you spend time with them,’ she said. ‘They can be very charming.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Dan.

‘They’ve got a lot of money,’ said Bea. ‘You know that?’

‘I guess,’ said Dan. ‘So?’

He kissed her. They made love, being careful with one another, and kind. Afterwards, as they drifted towards sleep, they heard Alex stumbling through the building, knocking into things, talking.

‘Is someone else here?’ she whispered.

‘Talking to himself,’ said Dan. ‘He should sleep.’

‘He can’t,’ she answered.

Then silence. Then morning.

7

Griff and Liv Adamson’s huge bright red four-wheel-drive Porsche Cayenne drove through the gates at six o’clock the next evening. Bea and Dan watched from a window as it pulled up between the battered Peugeot and Alex’s black Renault. The driver’s door opened, trees sliding from the glass.

‘Bonsoir! Bienvenue! Willkommen!’ Alex cried, bounding out to meet them, long legs flailing like a sunset shadow of himself.

‘You all right?’ said Dan to Bea.

She crossed her arms over her stomach. ‘Fine,’ she said.

The three of them had cleaned up all the mess, Alex was contrite and hung-over, and Bea was quiet, dread settling like frost.

Striding across the gravel, Griff stuck out his hand to grasp Alex’s, and with the other arm pulled him into an embrace. Liv bent to collect her handbag, tugging at her pashmina which fell forward as she reached into the footwell. Griff and Alex went for the suitcases, and Liv came towards the front door with a girlish step; flat shoes and strawberry-blonde hair landing lightly on her collarbones. She was sixty-three years old and five foot five; she often announced these facts as though they were a virtue.

‘Yay,’ said Bea tightly. ‘Let’s do this.’ And they went out to meet them.

‘Dan!’ Liv’s huge handbag dangled from her bone-thin forearm. ‘Bea! What a surprise. I’ve almost forgotten what you look like.’