Then again, it would be a relief to talk to someone who didn’t know. Marco was part of an archaeological layer in my own life. I imagined him in Rome, at his laptop, waiting to see if I’d Skype. He might have recently left the cool darkness of his dig, and carry with him the smell of dust undisturbed for centuries. I associated his name with the clink of a trowel against stone, the mouth-filling taste of cheap local wines bought near digs. If only none of this was real – not the fire or the deaths or the rumours. I could be there! Marco had a miraculous way of seeing the whole sweep of history in one view. He’d keep me sane.

I typed the Skype contact details he sent and waited to see if we’d connect. I knew the building of a third subway line through Rome meant he and his colleagues were now able to dig thirty metres below ground, a far cry from the usual six or so encouraged when ground was excavated for a shopping centre or car park. Rome wasn’t simply just one city, but was modern Rome on top of medieval Rome on top of ancient Rome.

Marco’s familiar face came into focus on my laptop screen. He was lean and tanned, his cheekbones and jaw visible beneath thinning skin, his easygoing nature tattooed into smile-lines around his eyes and mouth. Curiously, I touched the screen. In an archaeology of his face, I peeled away accumulated years, layers of strata, to find the man beneath, who I once loved. Who had loved me. Marco smiled, knowing, and no doubt noticing similar changes in me.

‘Country life is kind to you,’ he said at last. ‘You’re looking good, Phoebe.’

‘I’ve been in classrooms while you’ve been getting sun damage,’ I told him. ‘Still raiding the lost ark?’ I felt dizzy. This chatter was part of a parallel universe.

Marco grinned. ‘Maybe not. But this is more exciting than other work. Herding infants, for instance.’

I laughed. ‘You wanted to ask about something.’

His expression became anxious. ‘Australia’s on the news. Fires near your place.’

I closed my eyes, looking away until I realised this would worry him even more.

‘I should have told you.’ This truth was reflected in his eyes. It rained once when we were digging in Rome. The team became desperate to shelter the site from water damage. The ancient elements from which the world was made – earth, water, air, fire – were dangerous.

‘Are you all right?’ He saw something in my eyes too. ‘Caleb? Is he okay?’

‘He was hurt. Only a bit.’

‘Hurt? What happened?’

I didn’t need to tell him everything. Couldn’t bear to. ‘His head. He’ll be all right. He has a good doctor.’

‘But he’s okay? It was just a concussion? Phoebe. You should have told me.’ Marco glanced at his keyboard. Behind him rose the anonymous white wall of a distant Italian hotel room.