“Elspeth died of leukaemia. Valentina had asthma.” How delicately language skirts the issue. How meaningless it is.

“But…I don’t know. Why did she die?”

“I don’t know, Julia.” She stared at him, seemed to be waiting for him to say something more. Suddenly she ran out of the room. Robert heard her slam his front door and run up the stairs.

This is unbearable. He wanted to go to the cemetery, to walk off this sense of things being too real, too wrong. But Elspeth was sitting on the fire escape. He went to collect her. When he opened the door she was huddled on the bottom step looking miserable and boneless. He scooped her up and brought her in without a word. When he had settled her on his bed he sat next to her, facing away. “We have to leave here,” he said.

“Of course,” said Elspeth, relieved. “We’ll go anywhere you like.”

He left the room. She heard him dialling. Where are we going?

“James? May I come over? I’m bringing someone…I’ll explain when I get there…No, the situation is a bit unusual…Yes. Thanks, we’ll be there directly.”

Martin had imagined this journey countless times. In his head parts of it were quite tangible and specific and other things were left vague. There was no question of flying. He knew he could not bear to sit strapped in 30,000 feet up in the air; his heart would burst. He had decided to take the train.

First he had to convince himself to get into the minicab. The driver had waited patiently, had finally opened the door for him and let him insert and extract himself several times before he sat down and allowed the driver to shut the door. Martin sat with his eyes closed for a while, but eventually felt secure enough to look out the window. There’s the world. Look at all the new buildings, and the cars, there are so many strange cars. He had seen pictures of the cars in adverts: here they were. A black Prius cut off the minicab and there was a mutual exchange of hostility at the next light. Martin closed his eyes again.

Standing in Waterloo station he was immediately overwhelmed. It had been completely refurbished since he’d been there last. He was an hour early. He made his way very slowly across the open space of the station, looking straight ahead, counting his steps. People flowed around him. In the midst of his anxiety Martin was able to discern a kernel of excitement, pleasure in his reentry into the world. He thought of Marijke, of what she would say when she saw him, how proud she would be of him. Look, darling. I’ve come to you. Martin shivered in the cool dead air of the station. Unconsciously he closed his eyes and arced his head forward, as though expecting a kiss. A few people looked at him curiously. He stood still before the board that announced the trains, imagining Marijke’s embrace.

He had bought a first-class ticket on the Eurostar, one-way for luck. He waited in the lounge, standing apart from the other travellers. Finally he was able to step onto the train and walk to his seat at the end of the compartment. The train was quieter and cleaner than the trains he remembered. Martin bowed his head, clasped his hands and began counting silently. It was a five-hour journey. He was grateful not to have to take the ferry. The train would move straight ahead, on rails. It would not fly through the air; it would not sail the seas. He had only to sit still, change trains in Brussels, and take one more cab. It was doable.

Jessica opened her front door. Robert stood on the doorstep clutching what seemed to Jessica at first to be a wounded child; he held it under its arms as if it were about to slide to the ground. Though the day was temperate, the figure was shrouded in a scarf. Robert’s head was bowed over the small figure and he slowly raised his face and looked at Jessica with an expression of profound sorrow.

“Robert? What’s happened? Who is that?”

“I’m sorry, Jessica. I couldn’t think where else to go. I thought you might help us.”

The figure turned its head; Jessica saw its face. Julia? No. “Edie?”

“Jessica,” it said, and tried to straighten, tried to stand on its own. There was something about it that made Jessica think of a newborn foal, unsteady but ready to flee.

“It’s Elspeth, Jessica,” Robert said.

Jessica put out her hand and braced herself against the doorjamb. She experienced one of those rare moments when understanding of the world alters and a previously impossible thing is admitted, if not understood. “Robert,” she cried out, “what have you done?” From inside the house James called, “Jessica, are you all right?” She paused, then called back, “Yes, James.” She stared at them, uncertain and fearful.

“We’d better go,” said Robert. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“But how is it possible?”

“I don’t know,” Robert said. He realised the enormity of his mistake. “Jessica, I’m sorry. I’ll come back and see you when I’ve thought it all through more carefully. Just-please don’t mention this to Julia or her parents. I think they would rather not know.” He picked up Elspeth and turned to leave.

Jessica said, “Wait, Robert-” But he was already walking away. Elspeth wrapped her arms around his neck. James came to the door as they reached the pavement and were hidden from view by the hedge. “What happened?” he said. “Come inside,” said Jessica. “I have to tell you something.”

Martin sat on the train and the world flowed. Everything is still out there: the rooftops and chimneys, the graffiti, the office towers and the cyclists; soon there will be sheep and that immense sky they keep out in the countryside…Once I thought there were two realities, inner and outer, but perhaps that’s a bit meagre; I’m not quite the same person I was last night, and when I get to Marijke’s I won’t be the same man she married or even the one she walked out on…How will we recognise each other, after all that’s happened? How will we manage to realign our realities, which are moving away from us even as we travel towards them? Martin wrapped his fingers around the vitamin bottle, which Julia had slipped into his pocket. Everything is so fragile, and so glorious. He closed his eyes. Here it comes…here’s the future…and here it is again…

At the railway station in Brussels he bought a ham sandwich and a pair of sunglasses; he was nervous and the extra protection soothed him. He peered at himself in the shop’s mirror. Bond…James Bond. The Thalys train was more crowded than the Eurostar had been, but no one sat next to him. Three more hours. He began to eat his sandwich.

The cab disgorged Martin at Marijke’s front door. He stood in the crooked narrow street and tried to remember if he had ever been there before. He decided he hadn’t. He stepped up to the door and rang Marijke’s bell. She wasn’t home.

Martin panicked. He had not considered what would happen if she didn’t answer. He had imagined the scene exactly as it must happen; he had not allowed for having to stay outdoors for any length of time. He tried the doorknob. He felt his heart racing. No. Don’t be silly-just breathe- He sat on his suitcase and breathed.

Marijke wheeled her bike into the street; preoccupied, fishing in her bag for her keys, at first she didn’t notice the man gasping on her doorstep. As she came closer he stood up and said, “Marijke.”

“Martin-oh, goh-je bent hier!” She was immobilised by the bike, then hurriedly propped it against the building and turned to him. “You’ve come to me,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, and held out his arms to her. “Yes.”

They kissed. There in the sun, under the kindly gaze of anyone who happened to walk along that street, Martin embraced Marijke, and the years fell away. He had found her again.