I looked up from the computer screen to find the workings of the world exposed. The cogs of the windmills were operating a diorama, advancing a procession of puffy pristine clouds along the horizon beneath an otherwise clear blue sky. For a moment the spectacle felt like an insight, and then like even less than one. While the clouds were progressing at a measured pace, the windmills weren’t moving in unison, let alone at that speed. Any resemblance to my own task was emptily contrived. I was taking narratives apart to discuss them with my students next month. I had all day to myself, since my son was out with his girlfriend.

I was examining the presence of magic in contemporary mainstream fiction, an investigation prompted by my aunt’s work. Here was a magus playing games with the narrator on a Greek island. Here was a headmaster’s teenage daughter performing a rite designed to resolve her father’s situation in an Iris Murdoch novel. I made notes on these and then set about interpreting Peter Ackroyd, not least the significance of the homunculus John Dee creates in a tale where the past seems eager for revival. My edition used one of Thelma’s paintings for its cover, a mansion where all the windows showed an identical resident. The figures were increasingly remote, unless they were progressively approaching, and their faces were obscured by leafy shadows, though not a tree was to be seen. I was trying to put the image out of my mind – I couldn’t even see why it had been chosen for the book – when my phone emitted its silvery trill. “Mother,” it said.

I felt instantly guilty. When had I last seen my parents? Not since the beginning of the summer break, as if I’d wanted to get a duty done. However often I visited them, I had a sense that they were keeping quiet about the frequency of our encounters and wanted me to appreciate their discretion on the subject – very possibly about my remissness too. “Mother,” I said rather more enthusiastically than the phone had, I hoped. “How are you both?”

“Still keeping them on their toes at the office. There’s always something to improve.”

Yet again I was glad I’d resisted their notion of following them into their accountancy firm. “Aren’t you two ever going to retire? The world’s out there. You should take the chance to explore it while you have the chance.”

“My sister would have agreed with you, Patrick. You know we don’t spend for the sake of spending. Money’s for investment, not for squandering. I’m sure you’ll be glad of it once we’re gone.”

“I don’t need it, honestly, and I really think you and dad should have a break.”

“We have those all the time. We only go in when we feel we’re needed.”