Rose wanted to ask her about it, if it had helped, but then thought better of it; Abbie’s privacy had to be respected. Later that evening Abbie sat alone, the glow of the fire filling the room. She sipped a glass of red wine, enjoying the warmth the fluid gave to her; on the radio the jazz station played seductive saxophone music. She was deliberating about events, her feeling, and trying to put the pieces of her life back into some sort of apparent order. Abbie felt that she somehow now understood her situation: the important thing was that she was able to hold together and manage all the confusion and turmoil that had engulfed her. She also realised that her recent behaviour had aroused suspicion as to her wellbeing; she must manage this part better, she thought. She had her own life, her work to return to when she felt well enough, and she also had another dimension of existence with Peter.
