I lie on my bed, my face turned toward the wall. I tell myself I should go down, that everyone will be waiting for me. I have the Christmas meal to attend to, the children’s stockings to prepare. Already I can hear carol singers in the hall. I shut my eyes. I cannot hold the pieces of my life in place anymore. Last night, at dinner, Clive sat next to Mary and listed her accomplishments as if she were a precious object he longed to possess.

I drift in and out of sleep. I remember Stella, showing me how to give substance to my figures by shading round them. Her hand closes round mine, and as she guides my pencil, I see that she is holding something, an object I cannot quite make out. I know I must take it from her and keep it safe. Your face is in front of me now. We are underwater, and I sense that what Stella has given me will keep us afloat. Looking down, I realize what I have in my hand is a mirror. Your features are distorted by the water but I can read your fear. I hold the mirror out toward you. You understand at once but instead of taking the mirror start to swim away. I call after you, surprised by how clearly my voice sounds. I am terrified that if I let you go you will drown. I swim after you, and as I draw level, I grab hold of your shoulder. I thrust the mirror into your hand. The next time I look you are high above me on dry ground.

I am too exhausted to struggle. I shout to you but this time my voice makes no sound. As I sink, I become aware of someone catching me. I open my eyes and see Roger in the water beside me. Perhaps, if I can cling to him for long enough, I will find you and the mirror again.

It is one of those mornings when the sky looks as if it has been scrubbed. I feel chill and out of sorts as we walk past St. Pancras to the Register Office. You are sitting with Leonard in the waiting room. Your hand is tucked in his, and I have the sudden sense that from now on whatever you do will be shared with Leonard before it is confided in me. I feel like a passenger left waving on the shore while the sleek ocean liner sails from view. I clutch Clive’s arm as we make our way to an empty seat, grateful for his presence.