The first breath of autumn. The air held a new crispness. Willows and beech began to flame along the river bank, and the sky was high and delicate as blue porcelain. We needed our duvets at night, and to our joy the mosquitoes began to disappear. On Saturday morning walks the boys and I would stop to marvel at umbrella-sized spider webs hanging in the bushes, spangled with billions of dewy pearls. The new school year was well underway, with Kit umpiring cricket matches and running sausage sizzle fundraisers like an old hand. He was also putting in inhumanly long hours in the studio, muttering cheerfully about Dublin. Sacha passed her restricted test and was allowed to drive on her own. We bought her a cheap little diesel. I felt as though a last cord had been cut, but it made life a lot easier because she could get herself into and out of town. She was in Year Twelve now, and the pressure had come on with a vengeance. Every week there seemed to be some test or assignment; her flute teacher wanted a pound of flesh, too.
