“I’ve given you the wrong impression,” I said. “I’m just a teacher taking a bit of time out.”

“I like having you around. Most people irritate me. You don’t.”

“Thank you.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “But I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Don’t say no at once. Think it over at least. Are you in tomorrow?”

“There are things I need to do.”

“I’d be grateful if you could manage an hour or so in the morning. I’ve got to go out.”

“All right,” I said. “Now I ought to leave. Things to do.”

“But before you go, I think I should pay you for the last few days.”

“Later.”

“Gwen! Anyone would think you were doing this for nothing.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a saint.”

“Johnny seems to think you’re pretty perfect.” My face burned. I heard myself mutter something unintelligible. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t said anything to me. He’s pretty discreet. I’ve just seen the way he looks at you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I managed to say, and dashed out.

I TOLD MYSELF I mustn’t go back, but it had become an addiction. I had to go back, just to look through the rest of Milena’s emails. I arrived home in a restless and agitated state. My answering machine was flashing but I didn’t bother to listen to the messages. I made myself a cup of tea and drank it while I paced around the house. I opened the fridge and had one of the liquid yogurts Mary had brought. She said it would be good for my digestion; it tasted of coconut and vanilla and coated my tongue. I went into my neglected little garden. Darkness was drawing in, giving everything a mysterious air. I noticed the drifts of sodden leaves on the lawn, the nettles growing up against the back wall. There were a few yellow roses left on the bush by the back door. The bedraggled little blackbird was singing its heart out in the gloom. I reminded myself that I still had time to plant bulbs for spring. The previous autumn we’d planned snowdrops, winter aconites, daffodils and red tulips. Greg had loved tulips—he said they were the only flowers that were as beautiful dying as they were unfurling. I realized that I no longer had any difficulty in thinking of him in the past tense. When had that happened? On what day had he slipped between the cracks of memory to lie with other departed people in the deeper places of my mind?