Nevis tilts her head, curious, wanting to know where this sudden shift in tone has come from. Honor wants to say, I am afraid for you. I do not trust whatever is out there, forces you are too young to understand. And I am afraid of what you might do. But she knows she cannot.

The heat of their bodies together, on the sofa, has a shocking intimacy to it. Honor hasn’t felt this close, this conscious of the delicacy of the moment, for as long as she can remember. Her knee is touching Nevis’s now, her body angled away, anxious not to approach too close, too soon. The desire to protect stronger than the fear of rejection, she says, almost in a whisper, ‘I know I’ve hurt you. I am not asking for forgiveness. But I am asking you to do this for me.’

Nevis’s breathing softens and stills. Slowly, Honor swings her body, angling herself towards her daughter, and when Nevis makes no attempt to increase the space between them, Honor reaches for her hands and carefully, exquisitely sensitive to any resistance or stiffening, leans towards her daughter until their foreheads are touching, each warming the other’s cheeks with her breath.

In a whisper Honor says, ‘I am sorrier than I can say. About Satnam, and Jessica and Tash. About us. About all of it.’

‘I know.’

They make their way through the darkened, rainswept streets. Honor parks Gerry at the side of the street near the Redcliffe bridge and, escorting her daughter through the fencing and along the towpath past the homeless encampment, past the quiet calm of the narrowboats beside the bridge, the gentle slap of the water against the retaining walls of the quay, they arrive finally at the Halcyon Days. Alex has kept the fire going and made up the spare bed.

‘Your mother texted me with the news about your friend. I’m so sorry.’ He holds out a work-roughened hand and lays it on Nevis’s shoulder and, to Honor’s astonishment, she makes no attempt to shrug it off or back away. ‘I’ve made hot chocolate if you’d like some?’

‘No, thanks, I’ll go straight to bed.’

Honor shows her to her room, helps her unpack and returns to the saloon to find Alex sitting on the sofa. Beside him two mugs let loose thin steam spirals. Across the water on the western quayside a couple strolls hand in hand.

‘How is she?’

‘In a lot of pain and feeling vulnerable I think, not that she’d tell me that. Maybe she’ll find it easier to talk to you, once she knows you a bit better.’ She turns to him. ‘I know I do.’