But no words came to her. Her mind was a white, shining, empty space.

“What kind of God is yours, Jane?”

Her throat tightened. She did not know.

“The gentle Jesus? The healer? The merciful one? When we went to the service in the chapel and they prayed over Lizzie, they talked about mercy and healing and comfort and grace and she said it helped her but I don’t understand that. How could it have helped her? She got worse and she died. She died a dreadful death, you know. We all have to die. I don’t understand that.”

Do I? Jane thought. Now the space was black and swirling and dangerous, not a peaceful, beautiful emptiness. “I don’t know. I don’t pretend to have all the answers to life and death.”

“Why not?”

“You are too intelligent for this, you must know I can’t pretend to, all I can do is believe. Faith. It’s about faith. And trust.”

“Lizzie trusted.”

“How do you know her trust was misplaced? You don’t know. There are many sorts of healing.”

“Such as?”

“Max, listen c I’m exhausted. I need a shower and something to eat and some fresh air and so do you. We need normality. I can’t think straight. I can’t have this sort of conversation under threat c how can I? I’ll talk to you, I’ll pray with you c anything c but not like this.”

“It was the police.”

“Sorry?”

“A policeman. He talked and then he went away.”

“If the police are here then you’ve got to stop this. You’ve done nothing wrong and I wouldn’t dream of pressing charges against you but you have to let me open the door and walk out.”

“No.”

“They can break in.”

“They’ve gone.”

“No. Maybe they’ve retreated but they won’t have gone. Of course they won’t.”

“No one will break in. I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t stop it happening. Come on c think.”

He smiled then and his smile chilled her because it did not lighten his face or reach his eyes. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, this is not only about Lizzie. Perhaps he is not simply mad because of her death. Perhaps he ismad. And dangerous. And desperate. Perhaps c

There was a sound at the window. Max leapt out of the chair and went swiftly across to it but did not lift the curtain. He stood listening intently, but when Jane made a movement he turned round so quickly that she froze. He looked at the knives, then at her.

“Max?” A man’s voice from outside. “Please come and speak to me. Are you all right?”

Everything went still and silent for a long time. The sun crept over the small desk, catching the frame of her father’s photograph. A butterfly was spread out in a corner of the white wall, a red admiral, rich and quivering in the warmth.

“Max?”

Please. Please c

“I’m here.”

“Will you open the window?”

He hesitated, then pushed the handle forward a little.

“Thank you. Can you open the curtain?”

“Why?”

“It makes it easier to talk to someone you can see.”

“I can talk.”

A pause.

“Is Jane there?”

Max did not answer.

“Can I speak to Jane?”

“No.”

“Is she all right?”

“Why?”

“Come on, Max, reassure me about her, please. You can see why.”

“Jane’s here.”

“Will you let her come to the window?”

“No.”

“OK. Will you just show me your face?”

“No.”

“How long do you plan on staying there, Max? We don’t even know why c if you tell me what it is you want, maybe I can help you sort it out.”

“Are you God?”

“No.”

“My wife’s dead. Can you sort that out?”

“You know I can’t. I understand your distress, I know what—”

“Do you? What do you bloody know?”

There was a slight pause. Then the man said, “Because I know what it is like when someone you love dies. I’m a human being and I have had that happen to me and I know.”

“Your wife?”

“No, but that needn’t make a difference, need it?”

Max turned to look at Jane.

“No,” she said.

“She says—”

“What was that? I can’t hear you very well, can you come a bit nearer the window?”

“No. She says.”

“Who? Jane?”

Max waited.

“Do you want to talk to anyone?”

“I thought I was.”

“I can get a counsellor, if it’s—”

Max laughed.

“OK, then just tell me, if you know, why you are in there and why you are keeping Jane there? Can you tell me? There has to be a reason. Intelligent people don’t do this sort of thing at random. What is it you want? Max, we will help you as much as we can but none of us can bring your wife back to life. Not Jane. Not me. No one. You know that really, don’t you?”

“God can.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“Who does? Does Jane?”

“I don’t know c no. No. Ought she to?”

“I doubt it. Have you had any sleep?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“You can’t think clearly if you’re exhausted. Why don’t you come out and we can get you home to sleep c things are going to seem a whole lot worse the longer you stay there.”

“Nothing could be worse.”

“I think you realise that you are making them worse, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me look at you.”

“Why?”

“Helps me to talk to you. Might help you to talk to me if we saw one another.” Max did not make any move.

“Do you have enough to eat?”

“We ate something.”

“Is there food in the house? Milk, tea c all of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can get anything brought down to you if you tell me why you’re there. Help me out here, Max c I can’t understand what’s going on. Just help me.”

Max closed the window.

Jane was sitting hunched up on the sofa, her eyes down. He stared at her. He had thought that she was like Lizzie but now he saw that she was not. She was younger. Smaller. Hair and eyes differently coloured, skin paler. Different. She wore clothes Lizzie would not have worn. She was not like Lizzie. Not Lizzie. He sat down beside her on the sofa and she shrank back from him.

“Lizzie,” he said.

“No.”

“I want to tell you.”

“What?” She sounded tired. Her voice was flat. She didn’t want to listen to him.

“That I have no reason at all to live. That Lizzie was everything and now there is nothing. No point. No reason. Everything I had was Lizzie, everything I did. For Lizzie. About Lizzie. Me. I was about Lizzie. So what is there?”

“Everything. Everything else in the world out there c What would Lizzie want you to do?”

“I hate it when people assume things about the dead. ‘It’s what she would have wanted c’ How do they fucking know? Unless it’s something they talked about, they don’t know. It’s a way of them doing what they want to do with a clear conscience.”

“Sometimes. Yes. Oh yes. We don’t want to cancel the party so we say—”

“‘—It’s what she would have wanted,’” they said together. Max smiled.

“I didn’t know Lizzie. If it had been her c if you had died, would she have turned her back on life?”

“God, no. Lizzie was life. Until c life and Lizzie were interchangeable.”

“So?”

“I’m not Lizzie. I never much cared for life, you know. Then there was Lizzie. I cared for her. Not much else.”

“What a waste.”

“Lizzie’s death is a waste.”

“If that is true—and I don’t know if it is or not—it doesn’t give you the right to throw the rest of life, your life, away. There is everything else c surely you owe it to her to take it with both hands.”

“It fits you, doesn’t it, that bloody collar?”

“Max, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“OK.” He got up.

“I’m very, very tired. Can’t you just stop this, can’t you just go? Please. Just go. No one’s going to do anything to you.”

“Go to the bathroom.”

Her legs were aching, her head felt light. She could no longer think in any sort of logical order. Random ideas came and went. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.

She went into the bathroom and locked the door. She rinsed her face and held her hands under the cold tap. Prayed, though she was past doing more than committing herself to God. And Max. She remembered to pray for Max.