By the time Zuska arrived downstairs Bruno had finished his breakfast and was playing fetch with Harry, laughing delightedly as the little dog skidded across the tiled floor in pursuit of a small rubber ball.

She smiled and poured herself some orange juice and let them play for a few minutes more before sending Bruno upstairs to dress in the clothes she laid out for him on the bed.

Was he happy? Zuska shrugged to herself. What did she know about happiness? He laughed more and talked more and seemed at least as content than when she’d found him in that awful place.

But of course Bruno was always content. Ever since she had known him he had showed an amazing ability to absorb all the poison and bile in the world and filter it – no, transform it almost miraculously - into pure, cool, sweet water. Like a holy well.

Was she doing the right thing? She shrugged again. What did she know about the rightness of things? The clinic was expensive, the best there was. Music and poetry and stories were part of his life now, and he was bursting with enthusiasm over the events of the week when he came home on Fridays.

She looked out of the window down into the street. The limousine was already there. Isaac, the driver, was smoking a cigarette and leaning against the car door. Zuska was glad it was him. She had threatened to cancel the contract with the limousine company on Friday when they had sent Bruno home with a different driver. Bruno wasn’t good with strangers.

She took the bag and waited while Bruno said goodbye to Harry, and then they walked hand in hand down the staircase and into the street.

Isaac nodded to Zuska and smiled at Bruno. He opened the rear door and took the bag from Zuska and put it into the boot. Zuska spread her hand over Bruno’s skull as he stooped into the car. She lent across the leather seat and fastened his belt and then whispered into his ear and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Standing on the pavement she watched as Isaac pulled the Mercedes out into the traffic. She smiled sadly, kissed her hand and blew the kiss towards Bruno, receiving a little wave in return.

She looked up. The man from the café was standing in his doorway staring again, with the untroubled, unembarrassed curiosity that she began to realise was a characteristic of this town.

For the second time that morning their gaze locked across the street. She wasn’t going to back down and look away this time. She glared back defiantly for what seemed like minutes. The standoff only ended when a man tried to squeeze past to get into the café and proprietor and customer exchanged a few words.

When he looked up again, she was gone.