She ends there. Fred says not a word. They remain buried in the mud, staring at the ceiling.

23

One wall of the hotel’s huge gym is set up for free climbing.

The hippy mountaineer has reached the top of the wall, eight metres above the ground. And he seems admirably nonchalant as he hangs by one hand in empty space with no ropes to support him. He then turns to the pallid thirteen-year-old who has remained at the foot of the wall. She has not climbed one centimetre.

From the summit, the man says to her gently, “Come on, Frances, have a go.”

The girl looks up at him from below and says nothing, just chews on her fingernails.

“Wouldn’t you like to see what the world looks like from up here?”

The girl peers up at him again and nods.

“Good, then have a go.”

She shakes her head.

“O.K., well, wait there.” With three swift movements, the mountaineer is back on the ground.

“Get up on my shoulders.”

The girl clambers on the enormous man’s shoulders. With the same nonchalance, he climbs back up the wall without any effort, as if it were a little rucksack were on his shoulders not a human being.

“Now while we’re climbing you can look down. See how beautiful the world is from up here.”

Clinging to the man’s shoulders, the girl turns and looks down. She sees a figure watching them from the gym door. It is Lena.

The girl taps the man’s shoulder as if to invite him to look down as well. He turns and glances down, but Lena is no longer there. She has left the gym.

24

Another garden in the hotel, more isolated and remote, borders on an outbuilding where the staff are housed. No hotel guests go near the place. The main complex seems miles away. In the middle of the garden luxuriant roses grow among miniature fountains and an artificial stream. Everything arranged to create an inelegant version of a lyrical, flowery Eden.

No guests ever go there? Well, actually one guest does and that guest is Fred Ballinger. He is sitting on a bench in the middle of the garden, staring at the artificial stream, sucking on a sweet. His eyes are so full of sadness it would be difficult to imagine they could bear any more. He seems to be in a trance, absent, totally absorbed. But he suddenly rouses himself and takes out his handkerchief. He blows into it and then rapidly wipes his nose four times before folding it and putting it back in his pocket.

As he puts the handkerchief away his attention is caught by what he can see through the window on the ground floor of the staff’s lodgings. He can see the outline of the petite shy masseuse now wearing a T-shirt and shorts, her supple movements suggesting she is dancing. In fact, she is bouncing around in front of a video screen playing an Xbox game. A stylised female figure in the video invites her to copy her movements.