At the same time Liza was leaving on her road trip, Kathleen and Martha were leaving on theirs.

Kathleen was unsure whether to attribute the throbbing in her head to her rather reckless ingestion of alcohol or the six-hour time difference. Either way she was secretly relieved to be leaving Chicago behind after two nights. It was all so large and loud and contributed to an excess of stimulation which did nothing to ease her headache.

Martha had spent the free day sightseeing while Kathleen had stayed in the hotel and enjoyed the city from the relative peace of her balcony, her comfort enhanced by the delightful young man who brought her room service order.

Peace had been shattered when Martha had burst back into the room (on the fourth attempt because she seemed not to have a natural affinity to key cards), bubbling with stories and excitement. She’d seen this, been there, tasted this, met this person, did Kathleen know that...

She’d talked nonstop, while devouring the remains of Kathleen’s afternoon tea. Kathleen had found her breathless enthusiasm surprisingly invigorating. How could one feel flat and old around Martha, who seemed to exude not only youth but a certain naive innocence? It was as if she was seeing the world for the first time.

Listening to her, Kathleen wasn’t sure that she’d ever felt quite the same level of enthusiasm for tall glass skyscrapers that Martha seemed to feel, but she gave what she hoped were suitably encouraging responses. Yes, it was an unbelievable amount of glass. No, it probably didn’t mean that everyone in the city liked looking at their own reflection. Yes, it really was true that the lake froze in winter—Kathleen had witnessed it. Yes, it most certainly was called the Windy City for a reason.

Martha’s enthusiasm had continued unabated throughout their predinner cocktails and then through their meal. She ordered the lobster risotto for a second time because, as she informed Kathleen in a serious tone, she was never likely to get a chance to eat it again and anyway you could never have too much of a good thing.

Was that true?

Kathleen, who had turned down a third cocktail under the suspicion that she may indeed have had too much of a good thing, wasn’t so sure.

Like a long-life battery, Martha had eventually run out of energy and taken her flagging self to bed where no doubt she had slept the enviably deep sleep of the young.

Kathleen, to whom sleep never came easily, had turned and wriggled, plumped the unfamiliar pillow and eventually dozed, floating on a dream of past memories.