She could not help but stare, though her fascinationcheated them of privacy. There was so much to seeand remember. She could never be the same, couldshe, having viewed these scenes? One corpse - lyinghalf-hidden beneath another - drew her particularattention: a woman whose long chestnut-coloured hairflowed from her scalp so copiously Elaine envied it. Shemoved closer to get a better look, and then, putting thelast of her squeamishness to flight, took hold of thebody thrown across the woman, and hauled it away.The flesh of the corpse was greasy to the touch, andleft her lingers stained, but she was not distressed.The uncovered corpse lay with her legs wide, butthe constant weight of her companion had bent theminto an impossible configuration. The wound that hadkilled her had bloodied her thighs, and glued her skirtto her abdomen and groin. Had she miscarried, Elainewondered, or had some disease devoured her there?

She stared and stared, bending close to study thefaraway look on the woman's rotted face. Such a placeto lie, she thought, with your blood still shaming you.She would tell Kavanagh when next she saw him, howwrong he had been with his sentimental tales of calmbeneath the sod.

She had seen enough; more than enough. She wipedher hands upon her coat and made her way back to thedoor, closing it behind her and knotting up the ropeagain as she had found it. Then she climbed the slopeinto the clean air. The policemen were nowhere in sight,and she slipped away unseen, like a shadow's shadow.

There was nothing for her to feel, once she had masteredher" initial disgust, and that twinge of pity she'd feltseeing the children and the woman with the chestnuthair; and even those responses - even the pity and therepugnance - were quite manageable. She had felt bothmore acutely seeing a dog run down by a car than shehad standing in the crypt of All Saints, despite the horriddisplays on every side. When she laid her head downto sleep that night, and realised that she was neithertrembling nor nauseous, she felt strong. What was thereto fear in all the world if the spectacle of mortality shehad just witnessed could be borne so readily? She sleptdeeply, and woke refreshed.

She went back to work that morning, apologising toChimes for her behaviour of the previous day, andreassuring him that she was now feeling happier thanshe'd felt in months. In order to prove her rehabilitationshe was as gregarious as she could be, striking upconversations with neglected acquaintances, and givingher smile a ready airing. This met with some initialresistance; she could sense her colleagues doubting thatthis bout of sunshine actually meant a summer. Butwhen the mood was sustained throughout the day andthrough the day following, they began to respond morereadily. By Thursday it was as though the tears of earlierin the week had never been shed. People told her howwell she was looking. It was true; her mirror confirmedthe rumours. Her eyes shone, her skin shone. She wasa picture of vitality.

On Thursday afternoon she was sitting at her desk,working through a backlog of inquiries, when one ofthe secretaries appeared from the corridor and beganto babble. Somebody went to the woman's aid; throughthe sobs it was apparent she was talking about Bernice,a woman Elaine knew well enough to exchange smileswith on the stairs, but no better. There had been anaccident, it seemed; the woman was talking aboutblood on the floor. Elaine got up and joined thosewho were making their way out to see what the fusswas about. The supervisor was already standing outsidethe women's lavatories, vainly instructing the curious tokeep clear. Somebody else - another witness, it seemed- was offering her account of events:

'She was just standing there, and suddenly she startedto shake. I thought she was having a fit. Blood startedto come from her nose. Then from her mouth. Pouringout.'

'There's nothing to see,' Chimes insisted. 'Please keepback.' But he was substantially ignored. Blankets werebeing brought to wrap around the woman, and as soon asthe toilet door was opened again the sight-seers pressedforward. Elaine caught sight of a form moving about onthe toilet floor as if convulsed by cramps; she had nowish to see any more. Leaving the others to throng thecorridor, talking loudly of Bernice as if she were alreadydead, Elaine returned to her desk. She had so much todo; so many wasted, grieving days to catch up on. Anapt phrase flitted into her head. Redeem the time. Shewrote the three words on her notebook as a reminder.Where did they come from? She couldn't recall. It didn'tmatter. Sometimes there was wisdom in forgetting.

Kavanagh rang her that evening, and invited her out todinner the following night. She had to decline, however,eager as she was to discuss her recent exploits, because asmall party was being thrown by several of her friends,to celebrate her return to health. Would he care to jointhem? she asked. He thanked her for the invitation,but replied that large numbers of people had alwaysintimidated him. She told him not to be foolish: thather circle would be pleased to meet him, and she toshow him off, but he replied he would only put inan appearance if his ego felt the equal of it, and thatif he didn't show up he hoped she wouldn't offended.She soothed such fears. Before the conversation cameto an end she slyly mentioned that next time they metshe had a tale to tell.

The following day brought unhappy news. Bernicehad died in the early hours of Friday morning, withoutever regaining consciousness. The cause of death wasas yet unverified, but the office gossips concurred thatshe had never been a strong woman - always the firstamongst the secretaries to catch a cold and the lastto shake it off. There was also some talk, thoughtraded less loudly, about her personal behaviour. Shehad been generous with her favours it appeared, andinjudicious in her choice of partners. With venerealdiseases reaching epidemic proportions, was that not thelikeliest explanation for the death?

The news, though it kept the rumourmongers inbusiness, was not good for general morale. Twogirls went sick that morning, and at lunchtime itseemed that Elaine was the only member of staffwith an appetite. She compensated for the lack in hercolleagues, however. She had a fierce hunger in her;her body almost seemed to ache for sustenance. It wasa good feeling, after so many months of lassitude. Whenshe looked around at the worn faces at the table she feltutterly apart from them: from their tittle-tattle and theirtrivial opinions, from the way their talk circled on thesuddenness of Bernice's death as though they had notgiven the subject a moment's thought in years, and wereamazed that their neglect had not rendered it extinct.

Elaine knew better. She had come close to death sooften in the recent past: during the months leading upto her hysterectomy, when the tumours had suddenlydoubled in size as though sensing that they were plottedagainst; on the operating table, when twice the surgeonsthought they'd lost her; and most recently, in the crypt,face to face with those gawping carcasses. Death waseverywhere. That they should be so startled by itsentrance into their charmless circle struck her as almostcomical. She ate lustily, and let them talk in whispers.

They gathered for her party at Reuben's house - Elaine,Hermione, Sam and Nellwyn, Josh and Sonja. It was agood night; a chance to pick up on how mutual friendswere faring; how statuses and ambitions were on thechange. Everyone got drunk very quickly; tonguesalready loosened by familiarity became progressivelylooser. Nellwyn led a tearful toast to Elaine; Josh andSonja had a short but acrimonious exchange on thesubject of evangelism; Reuben did his impersonationsof fellow barristers. It was like old times, except thatmemory had yet to improve it. Kavanagh did not putin an appearance, and Elaine was glad of it. Despite herprotestations when speaking to him she knew he wouldhave felt out of place in such close-knit company.