In the clarity of the night it came to him that he’d been involved in these relationships to save himself from disappointment. Deep down, in his core, he was realizing that that was why he’d grown so attached to Blanche. In a sense I-nelik was right. Blanche had been his mum in many ways.

The next morning, when I-nelik came to pick him up, he was cured.

“Nice to meet you,” the rastaman said as he gave him his hand. “My name is Shiloh.”

They hugged each other and blessed this victory with the shedding of tears.

“I want to mark this stage in my life somehow,” he said to the dread as he sipped some water and lime juice from a bottle.

“Never cut your hair again,” I-nelik said. “And live as if your body is a temple. Fly your dreads, my son. Flash it in the face of Babylon. You are now the lion king.”

Fire was thinking about all these things as he pulled up to the Lighthouse. As the headlights swiveled around the final bend he saw a figure huddled in the doorway. Then he saw the car. The white Corolla. It was Blanche.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he stepped out into the downpour.

“I heard about your troubles and thought that you might need me. It’s late to go back to Kingston. Can I spend the night?”

“Blanche …”

“I can understand if you say no,” she said, shivering. Her cream cotton dress was drenched. Her makeup was running down her face. “I just wanted to know that you were okay.”

Inside, surrounded by his books, he felt new confidence in her presence. They were not the same people who’d splashed in each other’s wetness on a rainy night ten years ago in a country ninety miles away. Those two people, the teacher and the student, had died, sprouting, as a dead log shoots up orchids, new lives with new beginnings … new purposes and meanings.

“I’ll get you a towel and some clothes,” he said as she followed him up the wooden steps, splashing in the puddles he left behind.

On the landing she slipped and held him, her hand brushing his back from shoulder to waist. As he helped her to her feet she saw a newness in his eyes. Like coal, they used to smolder when he looked at her. Now they glinted, hard and self-assured like diamonds. She reflected on her new expectations. From the letters they’d written to each other while he was in away in London it was clear they would never be partners. He did not want her; this she accepted. But she wanted him to fuck her every now and then. She deserved that, she thought, for all that she had done for him. And hearing about his troubles, and guessing that he might be weak, she’d rented a nearby villa and pretended to have driven from Kingston in the rain, knowing he wouldn’t turn her away, but prepared nonetheless. Just in case.