“I couldn’t bring my mind’s eye to bear on her,” I say. “I still can’t. Each time I try there’s a sort of flash, like a flare. It’s always been the same.”

“Why?”

“I can only assume it’s shock. The kind that lasts a long time.”

He doesn’t move or speak.

“I should get going, Tom.”

“Where are you living now?” he manages to ask, after a long moment staring within himself.

I explain about the farmhouse, the lack of telephone, and fumble for my diary and pen. “Here, I’ll give you the address.”

“How’s Ellen, by the way? She must have been really worried.”

“She has been.” I strive to keep my handwriting neat as I reply. “She’s off to Singapore, actually. Today, in fact. Won’t be back for ages.”

“Singapore!”

I recall Ellen’s amusement, her teasing. How merciless she was. That makes me feel better.

“Her brother lives there.” I tear out the slip of paper and hand it to him. “I can’t say how long I’ll be at this address. But I’ll keep in touch.”

He gives a tentative smile. “I bet you’ve got some time off, now, haven’t you. What with the accident.”

“I certainly have.”

We embrace carefully and I get into the car. His face appears at the window. “I hope you don’t mind me going to Bordeaux for Christmas. I feel guilty, after everything that’s happened to you.”

“Tom, you don’t have to pay me duty visits. Not yet, anyway.”

He grins with relief. Then he says, “I wish you could tell me. So I could picture her myself. Maybe the flash will kind of wear off. You could try some meditation, Dad.”

“I could.”

“It would be good for you anyway, I think. Deep breathing and all that.”

“Thanks for the advice. Bye, Tom. Cook yourself a steak. Write to me.”

“Bye, Dad.”

In the rearview mirror I see him bound up the steps to his front door.

—

The farmhouse looks different when I get back. Solid in low sunshine, more welcoming, less of a bolt-hole. I let myself in, pour a glass of water from one of my many receptacles. Imagine Ellen traveling into a short night, meeting the sun coming around the other way. She and her brother, they’ll have a rare adventure.

This is not the time to give up, Ellen said to me, out on the hill. This is not the time.

I stand in the kitchen, in the peace of the still air and the fading afternoon light. Nothing to hear but a gull crying in the field. Ellen doesn’t know what she’s asking. How can I pick up that burden again?

I take a pill. Shortly afterward, judging that I missed one when I was driving, I take another. Then I trudge upstairs, lie down on the bed, and fall heavily asleep.