There was no hiding. The rain shot at Harold’s waterproof jacket and down his neck, and even up the elasticated rims of his sleeves. The drops hit like peppercorns. They swirled in pools and rivulets along the gutters, and with each passing car they sloshed over the rims of his yachting shoes. After an hour his feet were water, and his skin itched from the constant chafing of wet clothes. He didn’t know if he was hungry and he couldn’t remember if he had eaten. His right calf spangled with pain.

A car drew up next to him, and threw water the length of his trousers. It didn’t matter. He could not get wetter. The passenger window steadily rolled downwards. There was a warm smell of new leather and heated air. Harold stooped his head.

The face on the other side was young and dry. “Are you lost? Do you need directions?” it said.

“I know where I’m going.” The rain stung Harold’s eyes. “But thank you for stopping.”

“Nobody should be out in weather like this,” insisted the face.

“I made a promise,” said Harold, straightening up. “But I am grateful to you for noticing me.”

For the next mile he asked himself whether he had been foolish not to ask for help. The longer he took to walk, the more unlikely it was that Queenie would keep living. And yet he was certain she was waiting. If he failed in his share of the bargain, albeit one without logic, he was afraid he would not see her again.

What should I do? Give me a sign, Queenie, he said, maybe out loud, maybe to himself. He wasn’t sure any more where he officially stopped and the outside world began.

A large lorry thundered towards him, blaring a violent horn, and splattered him from head to foot with mud.

♦

And yet something else happened, and it became one of those moments that he would walk into and realize, even as it was happening, that it was significant. Late in the afternoon, the rain stopped so abruptly it was hard to credit there had been any at all. To the east, the cloud tore open and a low belt of polished silver light broke through. Harold stood and watched as the mass of grey split again and again, revealing new colours: blue, burnt umber, peach, green and crimson. Then the cloud became suffused with a dulled pink, as if those vibrant colours had bled through, merging as they met. He couldn’t move. He wanted to witness every change. The light on the land was gold; even his skin was warm with it. At his feet the earth creaked and whispered. The air smelt green and full of beginnings. A soft mist rose, like wisps of smoke.