A door. Latched and locked. Or not?

Though wrapped still in George’s arms, this last sound disturbed Veronica and for a few surreal moments she felt a return of that distinct, unsettling sensation of being watched. It wasn’t possible, however, not now. Terry was long gone, refused by three different brothers, apparently, to either pay his bail or have him in their homes. He couldn’t come near her from where he was. He couldn’t be back. To prove her own silliness, Veronica looked over George’s shoulder towards the street, ready for the pretty houses, knitted in such tidy union, to prove her nervousness wrong.

And that was when she saw him – the boy, Dominic.

Dragging a bundle of black bags into a waiting car, he stopped, and looked at her through the window. Again there came that flash in her mind, that vision of him wielding steel, helping her, fixing things. But the memory flickered before her in the sun, and now, he brandished nothing. Instead, without instrument, he nodded. His beady eyes were as unnerving and unreadable as ever, but she imagined an attempt at his conveying something with that nod: apology, thanks, conspiracy, absolution?

With him was a woman she hadn’t seen before – much older, black, carrying a laughing Jasmine, something about her intangibly fortifying. Even from the other side of glass, Veronica felt a little fortified. She nodded back to Dominic. But next to him, catching the gesture, appeared Simone.

Simone.

Of course she was there too. Standing face on. Motionless. Looking inside as Veronica looked out.

For a fleeting second, the eyes of the two women locked. Saying nothing, saying everything. Melded that way together. Until abruptly, as though moved by some thought or some new paradigm of life, or simply no longer desirous of looking in, Simone nodded at Veronica, as her son had done, and then turned away from the window, back towards him, back towards her family, and climbed into the car, and was gone.

After that, there was only silence.

Veronica closed her eyes and breathed deeply into George’s neck, inhaling his scent. In return, he squeezed her shoulders, and at the solidity of that, she felt tears bubble in her eyes. George lifted his head and saw them. She prepared for him to glance away, steeling herself for it, for a return to this; but instead he looked straight at her, and touched the salty liquid, and wiped the tears. And then the two of them simply stood, holding each other’s bodies, holding each other’s fears, holding a new life between them, breathing deep into the quiet.

It was, after all, so quiet now.

So quiet.

Others might not notice that.

Epilogue

Sarah watched, from a distance.

The two women leant over the railings of the playground, laughing as they spoke. What were they sharing? A joke? A secret?

The likeness was undeniable. Pale. Thin as a rake. It was her, it had to be.

Sarah had told nobody what she had seen, not even David. But of course she had gone back. Of course she had not left Veronica comatose on her own. Of course she had done the right thing. Or intended to.