Reality didn’t start to weigh heavily until she emerged from the train station into the light of the late London afternoon. Maybe Dylan was home. She almost ran the whole way, dodging people, with her small pull-along suitcase making a racket over the cracks in the pavements. But somehow, at the first glimpse of her little house, as still as Carmela’s, junk mail sticking out of the letter flap, Esther knew in her heart that it was empty. So great was the let-down that it took a moment to register that there was something on the doorstep; a large something, basking in a shaft of late afternoon sun. Bloody Chico. Esther stopped, picking up her case so as not to alarm the animal as she approached. Maybe it was an omen. Creatures that went missing could turn up again.

Esther opened the gate slowly. A car shot past, but the animal didn’t so much as glance sideways. She put the case down before venturing up the path. Clocking her approach, the cat tensed slightly, before continuing to lick a front paw. Esther took one step at a time, while the cat played the game of ignoring her. He looked well fed, the black tiger markings in his dark grey fur gleaming chevrons in the sun. She got her house keys ready. An open door, a shove, and the job would be done.

17

Libraries had something of the church about them, Lucas decided, his eyes travelling round the high ceilings and the walls of books, planted between the big tables like mighty buttresses. There was the same air of reverence; the same dimness of light, despite the sunbeams slanting through the high latticed windows, dust motes thick as midges dancing in their rays. He stole a glance at Heidi in the seat opposite, envying her engrossment in her labours, and the earnestness with which she tackled every challenge, inspired, it seemed to him now, by a certainty that he could recall possessing himself once upon a time – that life could and would get better; that a steady trajectory towards the stars required only the drive of a determined ambition to bring it into being.

Under the shield of the table, Lucas had a go at flexing his left foot, feeling again the twinge of the calf muscle he had somehow overexerted on the towpath that morning. Heidi, sensing the movement, or his gaze, looked up from her books. For a moment, their eyes locked across the broad oak table, hers asking brightly how he was getting on, and his making a sterling effort to lie that all was going swimmingly.