. .’ ‘It’s an anniversary. I’m no good at them but this is different . . . Rachel?’ He knew what the silence was about and it was not because she didn’t want to have the dinner, didn’t want to be with him, didn’t want to remember. It was Kenneth. Always. ‘He had an awful attack last night – I had to give him oxygen, he was in such a panic.’ ‘How is he today?’ ‘Better. He’s slept a lot. And much better this aftenoon – he’s had something to eat and he’s watching the Test match. God bless satellite television or he wouldn’t have half the pleasure he can still get.’ ‘And we’re winning.’ ‘Are we? Oh yes, he said something about that.’ ‘Perhaps you can get the carer who likes cricket to come and sit with him.’ ‘Tim. I can try.’ ‘Otherwise, when do we see each other, how do we see each other?’ ‘How’s the inquiry?’ ‘A long progression of detail, most of which will turn out to be insignificant and irrelevant and one iota of which will be vital.’ ‘So can you get away for an evening?’ ‘Yup.
