I must have been surprised to see him again so soon—here, inside Byrne Hall of all places—but I don’t remember being bowled over by astonishment. He fitted the place so well—as did the woman, in her own way—although it’s hard to explain what I mean by that. Perhaps it was the way in which he moved through the imposing spaces of the house, without affording them a second glance. Or perhaps it was his appearance—the way he managed, like the house, to be self-possessed and scruffy at the same time. Either way, I felt pretty sure that I was not dealing with a pair of fellow would-be squatters. This was The Family—or part of it.

It wasn’t my place to feel annoyed with them for being at home in their own house, but at least I was entitled to feel annoyed with the man for finding my suitcase behind the gate and wheeling it up the hill. No doubt he’d wondered what it was doing hidden inside his driveway, and it had obviously come in handy as a trolley for his broken shopping bags, but still. I’d have to lug it all the way down again now.

“Give me a kiss,” said the woman, twisting the tissue in her restless hands. The man wavered for a moment before stooping over her head and giving it a peck. She glanced across at me while his head was bowed, and he must have sensed it, because he looked right at me as he straightened up.

“Darling.” This time her tone was one of patient warning. She sounded as though she were about to embark upon a long explanation, but of course she didn’t have one, and she was forced to trail off.

“Hello,” said the man.

“Hello,” I said. “Again.”

I couldn’t read anything into his expression, for which I blamed the poor light. All I know is that he rested his clasped hands on the back of the sofa and looked at me keenly.

The awkwardness of the situation hit us both at the same time, and we masked the silence as best we could with introductions—he was Cory Byrne, she was Diana Byrne, they were mother and son.

“I left my suitcase by the gate,” I said.

We both looked at my suitcase. It seemed childish, standing there in the doorway with its pinks and purples, its cartoon flowers.

“Yes. I brought it up . . .”

We lapsed into silence again, although it was hardly an adequate exchange of information on either side. Tissue shreds drifted onto Diana’s lap, like a miniature fall of snow.

“You’ve met already?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “In town.”

“I’d no idea you lived here!” I said. Cory ran his hand through his rain-wet hair and smiled politely. Diana made no response at all.

The two of them seemed to flutter between me and the door, as pale and awkward as resident ghosts, their beautiful grey eyes fixed on me. I had to get away. I couldn’t remember what I was doing here, except that I’d wanted to look at a picture that bore some, or little, or no resemblance at all to my sister. That was my most tangible reason for coming. All the less tangible ones were dissolving as rapidly as dreams in the light of day.