ELSPETH DIED while Robert was standing in front of a vending machine watching tea shoot into a small plastic cup. Later he would remember walking down the hospital corridor with the cup of horrible tea in his hand, alone under the fluorescent lights, retracing his steps to the room where Elspeth lay surrounded by machines. She had turned her head towards the door and her eyes were open; at first Robert thought she was conscious.

In the seconds before she died, Elspeth remembered a day last spring when she and Robert had walked along a muddy path by the Thames in Kew Gardens. There was a smell of rotted leaves; it had been raining. Robert said, “We should have had kids,” and Elspeth replied, “Don’t be silly, sweet.” She said it out loud, in the hospital room, but Robert wasn’t there to hear.

Elspeth turned her face towards the door. She wanted to call out, Robert, but her throat was suddenly full. She felt as though her soul were attempting to climb out by way of her oesophagus. She tried to cough, to let it out, but she only gurgled. I’m drowning. Drowning in a bed…She felt intense pressure, and then she was floating; the pain was gone and she was looking down from the ceiling at her small wrecked body.

THE LETTERS arrived every two weeks. They did not come to the house. Every second Thursday, Edwina Noblin Poole drove six miles to the Highland Park Post Office, two towns away from her home in Lake Forest. She had a PO box there, a small one. There was never more than one letter in it.

Usually she took the letter to Starbucks and read it while drinking a venti decaf soy latte. She sat in a corner with her back to the wall. Sometimes, if she was in a hurry, Edie read the letter in her car. After she read it she drove to the parking lot behind the hot-dog stand on 2nd Street, parked next to the Dumpster and set the letter on fire. “Why do you have a cigarette lighter in your glove compartment?” her husband, Jack, asked her. “I’m bored with knitting. I’ve taken up arson,” Edie had replied. He’d let it drop.

Jack knew this much about the letters because he paid a detective to follow his wife. The detective had reported no meetings, phone calls or email; no suspicious activity at all, except the letters. The detective did not report that Edie had taken to staring at him as she burned the letters, then grinding the ashes into the pavement with her shoe. Once she’d given him the Nazi salute. He had begun to dread following her.

There was something about Edwina Poole that disturbed the detective; she was not like his other subjects. Jack had emphasised that he was not gathering evidence for a divorce. “I just want to know what she does,” he said. “Something is…different.” Edie usually ignored the detective. She said nothing to Jack. She put up with it, knowing that the overweight, shiny-faced man had no way of finding her out.

The last letter arrived at the beginning of December. Edie retrieved it from the post office and drove to the beach in Lake Forest. She parked in the spot farthest from the road. It was a windy, bitterly cold day. There was no snow on the sand. Lake Michigan was brown; little waves lapped the edges of the rocks. All the rocks had been carefully arranged to prevent erosion; the beach resembled a stage set. The parking lot was deserted except for Edie’s Honda Accord. She kept the motor running. The detective hung back, then sighed and pulled into a spot at the opposite end of the parking lot.

Edie glanced at him. Must I have an audience for this? She sat looking at the lake for a while. I could burn it without reading it. She thought about what her life might have been like if she had stayed in London; she could have let Jack go back to America without her. An intense longing for her twin overcame her, and she took the envelope out of her purse, slid her finger under the flap and unfolded the letter.

Dearest e,

I told you I would let you know-so here it is-goodbye.

I try to imagine what it would feel like if it was you-but it’s impossible to conjure the world without you, even though we’ve been apart so long.

I didn’t leave you anything. You got to live my life. That’s enough. Instead I’m experimenting-I’ve left the whole lot to the twins. I hope they’ll enjoy it.

Don’t worry, it will be okay.

Say goodbye to Jack for me.

Love, despite everything,

ELSPETH NOBLIN was dead and no one could do anything for her now except bury her. The funeral cortège passed through the gates of Highgate Cemetery quietly, the hearse followed by ten cars full of rare-book dealers and friends. It was a very short ride; St Michael’s was just up the hill. Robert Fanshaw had walked down from Vautravers with his upstairs neighbours, Marijke and Martin Wells. They stood in the wide courtyard on the west side of the cemetery watching the hearse manoeuvring through the gates and up the narrow path towards the Noblin family’s mausoleum.

Robert was exhausted and numb. Sound seemed to have fallen away, as though the audio track of a movie had malfunctioned. Martin and Marijke stood together, slightly apart from him. Martin was a slender, neatly made man with greying close-cropped hair and a pointed nose. Everything about him was nervous and quick, knobbly and slanted. He had Welsh blood and a low tolerance for cemeteries. His wife, Marijke, loomed over him. She had an asymmetrical haircut, dyed bright magenta, and matching lipstick; Marijke was big-boned, colourful, impatient. The lines in her face contrasted with her modish clothing. She watched her husband apprehensively.

MARIJKE Wells de Graaf stood in the doorway of the bedroom she had shared with Martin for the last twenty-three years. She had three letters in her hand, and she was debating with herself about where to leave one of them. Her suitcases stood on the landing by the front stairs with her yellow trench coat neatly folded over them. She had only to leave the letter and she could go.

Martin was in the shower. He had been in there for about twenty minutes; he would stay in the shower for another hour or so, even after the hot water ran out. Marijke made a point of not knowing what he was up to in there. She could hear him talking to himself, a low, amiable mumble; it could almost have been the radio. This is Radio Insanity, she thought, coming at you with all the latest and greatest OCD hits.

She wanted to leave the letter in a place where he would find it soon, but not too soon. And she wanted to leave it in a spot that wasn’t already problematic for Martin, so that he’d be able to pick the letter up and open it. But she didn’t want to put it in a place which would be contaminated by the presence of the letter, which would then be forever associated with the letter and therefore out-of-bounds to Martin in the future.

She’d been pondering this dilemma for weeks without settling on a spot. She’d almost given up and resolved to post the letter, but she didn’t want Martin to worry when she didn’t come home from work. I wish I could leave it hovering in midair, she thought. And then she smiled and went to get her sewing kit.

Marijke stood in Martin’s office next to his computer, trying to steady her hands enough to thread the needle in the pool of yellow light from his desk lamp. Their flat was very dark; Martin had papered over the windows and she could only tell that it was morning by the white light that showed through the Sellotape at the edges of the newspaper. Needle threaded, she whipped a few stitches around the edge of the envelope and then stood on Martin’s chair to tape the end of the thread to the ceiling. Marijke was tall, but she had to stretch, and for a moment she had a sensation of vertigo, wobbling on the chair in the dark room. It would be a bad joke if I fell and broke myself now. She imagined herself on the floor with her head cracked open, the letter dangling above her. But a second later she recovered her balance and stepped off the chair. The letter seemed to levitate above the desk. Perfect. She gathered her sewing things and pushed in the chair.

Martin called her name. Marijke stood frozen. “What?” she finally called out. She set the sewing supplies on Martin’s desk. Then she walked into the bedroom and stood at the closed bathroom door. “What?” She held her breath; she hid the remaining two letters behind her back.

“There’s a letter for Theo on my desk; could you post it on your way out?”

“Okay…”

“Thanks.”

Marijke opened the door a crack. Steam filled the bathroom and moistened her face. She hesitated. “Martin-”

ROBERT HAD given a special tour of the Western Cemetery to a group of antiquarians from Hamburg, and now he stood under the arch by Highgate Cemetery’s main gate, waiting for his group to buy postcards and collect their belongings so he could shoo them out and lock up. In the winter there were no regular weekday tours. He liked the subdued, workaday quality the cemetery had on these quiet days.

The antiquarians straggled out of the former Anglican chapel that served as a makeshift gift shop. Robert shook the green plastic donation box at them, and they threw in their change. He always felt embarrassed at this little transaction, but the cemetery didn’t pay VAT on donations, so everyone at Highgate begged as enthusiastically as they could manage. Robert smiled and waved the Germans out, then turned the old-fashioned key in the massive gate’s lock.

He went into the office and put the key and the donation box on the desk. Felicity, the office manager, smiled and dumped out the contents. “Not bad, for such a dreary Wednesday,” she said. She held out her hand. “Walkie-talkie?”

Robert patted his mackintosh pocket and said, “I’ll bring it back.”

JULIA AND Valentina Poole liked to get up early. This was curious, because they were out of school, unemployed and rather indolent. There was no reason for the twins to be up with the dawn; they were early birds who weren’t particularly interested in getting the worm.

On this particular Saturday in February the sun was not quite up. The twelve inches of snow that had fallen overnight looked bluish in the half-light; the huge trees that lined Pembridge Road bowed under the weight of it. Lake Forest was still asleep. The yellow brick ranch house where the twins lived with their parents felt quiet and snug under the snow. All the usual traffic, bird and dog noises were stilled.

Julia turned up the heat while Valentina made hot chocolate from a mix. Julia went into the family room and clicked on the TV. When Valentina came into the room with the tray, Julia was standing in front of the TV flicking through the channels even though she knew what they wanted to watch. It was always the same, every Saturday. The twins loved the sameness, even as they felt incapable of enduring it for one more minute. Julia paused on CNN. President Bush was talking to Karl Rove in a conference room. “Nuke them,” said Valentina. The twins gave the finger to the president and his aide in unison, and Julia changed the channels until she got to This Old House. She turned the sound up, careful not to blast it and risk waking their parents. Valentina and Julia settled onto the couch, wrapped around each other, with Julia’s legs resting on Valentina’s lap. Mookie, their aged tabby cat, sat next to Valentina. They pulled the plaid wool blanket over themselves, warmed their hands with their mugs of chocolate and stared at the TV, lost to everything else. On Saturday mornings they could watch four reruns of This Old House back to back.

“Soapstone kitchen counters,” said Julia.

“Mmm hmm,” said Valentina, entranced.

The family room was dim; the only light came from the television and the front window. But if the light had been stronger the room would have been hard to look at, because everything in it was Kelly green, bright red plaid, or related to golf. The entire house was aggressively decorated. All the furnishings were either overstuffed, covered in chintz, made of brushed metal or frosted glass, or painted in colours with names that sounded like ice-cream flavours. Edie was an interior decorator; she liked to practise on their house, and Jack had given up trying to have any say in the matter. The twins were convinced that their mother had the most egregious taste in the entire world. This was probably not true; most Lake Forest homes were decorated in more expensive versions of the same. The twins liked the family room because it was their dad’s, and therefore ironically hideous. Jack took a certain pleasure in acquiescing to the demands of his tribe as long as he was comfortable.

The twins themselves looked odd in this house. Actually, they looked odd everywhere they went.

They were twenty years old, on this winter Saturday. Julia was the older twin by six (to her, very significant) minutes. It was easy to imagine Julia elbowing Valentina out of the way in her determination to be first.

THE INVENTION of the Internet had allowed Martin to abandon the outside world. Or rather, the Internet had enabled him to relegate that world to the role of support system for his world, the one that flourished inside his flat.

Martin had not expected Marijke to leave him. She had acquiesced in his rituals, had aided and abetted his increasingly stringent compulsions, for almost twenty-five years. He couldn’t understand why she would leave now. “You are like a bad pet,” she’d told him. “You’re like a human squirrel that never goes out, that just sits in the flat all day and all night, licking the same spot. I want to be able to open the windows. I want to walk into my own flat without having to put bags on my feet.” They’d had this conversation in the kitchen. The windows were taped shut and papered over, and both of them were wearing plastic bags over their socks. Martin was empty-handed; he had nothing he could use to counter Marijke’s assertion. He was a human squirrel and he knew it. But who would take care of him if she left? “You’re a fifty-three-year-old PhD with a telephone and a computer. You’d be fine. Get Robert to take out the rubbish.” Two days later, Marijke was gone.

She left him with two weeks’ worth of frozen meals and a list of websites and telephone numbers. Sainsbury’s delivered groceries and cleaning products; Marks & Spencer sent pants and socks. Robert posted his letters and carried the rubbish down to the dustbin.

At the end of the day, it wasn’t a bad way to live. There was no one to please but himself. He missed Marijke terribly, but he did not miss her reproving glares, her loud sighing, the way she rolled her eyes when he asked her to leave a room and come in again because she’d entered with the wrong foot first. Marijke wasn’t there to frown when he ordered five thousand pairs of latex surgical gloves from a dodgy outfit on the Internet. While he was at it, he also bought a kit for measuring blood pressure, a gas mask and a desert camouflage army-surplus jumpsuit which the site claimed could withstand chemical weapons.

There were bargains to be had. From a different site he ordered four fifty-litre drums of bleach. This brought Robert to his door.

“Martin, there’s a bloke downstairs with an enormous amount of bleach. He says you ordered it, and it has to be signed for. Do you think it’s safe to have that much bleach around the house? The containers have all sorts of scary pictographs of hands with smoke coming off them, and warnings galore. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Martin thought it was a brilliant idea; he was always running out of bleach. To Robert he only said that he would be very careful, and to please put the bleach in the kitchen.

The more Martin delved into the cyber world, the more he realised that there was absolutely nothing he couldn’t have brought to his door, for a fee. Pizza, cigarettes, beer, free-range eggs, the Guardian, postage stamps, lightbulbs, milk: all this and more appeared when required. He ordered books by the dozen from Amazon, and soon the unopened boxes piled up in the hall. He missed browsing in Stanfords, the map shop on Long Acre, and was overjoyed when he discovered their website. Maps began arriving, along with guidebooks to places Martin had never visited. Inspired, he ordered everything Stanfords offered on Amsterdam, and covered his bedroom walls with maps of that city. He traced what he imagined might be Marijke’s routes. He guessed, correctly (though he did not know it), that she lived in the Jordaan district. He assigned her a routine and mentally accompanied her as she rode her bike along canals and shopped for all the odd vegetables she loved that he wouldn’t eat. Fennel, Jerusalem artichokes, rocket. He didn’t consider any of it to be food. Martin lived on tea, toast, eggs, chops, potatoes, beer, curry, rice and pizza. He had a weakness for pudding. But in his imagination Marijke lingered in Amsterdam’s outdoor markets, filling the basket of her bike with freesias and Brussels sprouts. He remembered walks he and Marijke had taken together there decades before, marvellous spring evenings when they were besotted with each other and Amsterdam seemed hushed and the sounds of boats and seagulls bounced off the seventeenth-century canal houses as though they were recordings being played back from the past. Martin would stand in his bedroom with the tip of his index finger pressed to the map over the location of the radio station where Marijke now worked. He would close his eyes, repeat her name silently, moving his lips, one hundred times. He did this to prevent himself from calling her. Often it sufficed. Other times he had to call. She never answered. He imagined her flipping open her mobile, frowning at his number, flipping it closed.

Martin’s desk was an island of normality in the wreck of his flat. He had succeeded in keeping his workspace compulsion-free; if an obsession began to trouble him at his desk he would get up and take it to some other part of the flat to deal with it. Aside from cleaning rituals at the beginning and end of each work session, Martin had maintained his desk as a peaceful oasis. His computer had been for work only; email had been for corresponding with editors and proofreaders. In addition to setting his crossword puzzles, Martin also translated various obscure and ancient languages into various modern ones. He belonged to one online forum that existed to allow scholars worldwide to debate the merits of various texts and to amuse each other by ridiculing the work of translators who didn’t belong to the forum.

ROBERT SAT at his desk with the lights off, watching through the front windows as Vautravers’ tangled front garden disappeared in the dusk. It was June, and the light seemed to hang there, as though the garden had fallen out of time and become an enormous image of itself. The moon rose, almost full. He got up and shook himself, gathered his night scope and a torch and walked through his flat to the back door. He slipped down the steps quietly; Martin worried about intruders. Robert avoided the gravel path through the back garden, instead squishing across the mossy earth to the green door in the garden wall. He unlocked it and passed through the wall into the cemetery.

He was standing on asphalt, the roof of the Terrace Catacombs. There were steps leading to ground level at both ends of the catacombs; tonight he took the western steps and headed towards the Dickens Path. He didn’t use the torch. It was dark under the thick canopy of leaves, but he had done this route in the dark many times.

He liked Highgate Cemetery best at night. At night there were no visitors, no weeds to pull, no enquiries from journalists-there was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy. Sometimes he wished he could stroll with Jessica along the dim paths, enjoying the evening noises, the animals that called out to each other in the distance and stilled as he passed. But he knew that Jessica was at home, asleep, and that she would certainly exile him from the cemetery if she knew about his night sojourns. He rationalised, telling himself that he was patrolling, protecting the cemetery from vandals and the self-described vampire hunters who had plagued it in the 1970s and ’80s.

Robert did sometimes meet other people in the cemetery at night. Last summer, for a short while, there had been a railing missing in the spiked iron fence that ran along the southwestern edge of the cemetery. It was during this period that Robert began to see children in the cemetery in the evenings.

The first time, Robert was sitting in the midst of a cluster of graves from the 1920s. He had cleared a place for himself in the tall grass and was sitting very quietly, looking through his video camera with the night vision scope on, hoping to videotape the family of foxes whose burrow was just twenty feet from where he sat. The sun had set behind the trees, and the sky was yellow above the silhouettes of the houses just beyond the fence. Robert heard a rustling sound and turned his camera in that direction. But instead of foxes, the view-finder suddenly filled with the spectre of a child running towards him. Robert nearly dropped the camera. Another child appeared, chasing the first one; little girls in short dresses, running between the graves silently, breathing hard but running without calling out. They were almost upon him when a boy shouted, and they both turned and ran to the fence, squeezed through the gap, and were gone.

Robert reported the broken railing to the office the next morning. The children continued to play in the cemetery in the evenings, and Robert occasionally observed them, wondering who they were and where they lived, wondering what they meant by the strange games they silently played among the graves. After a few weeks a man came and put the fence right again. Robert walked along the street that evening and felt a bit sad as he passed the three children gathered there with their hands on the railings, peering into the cemetery, not speaking.

Robert’s PhD thesis had begun as a work of history: he imagined the cemetery as a prism through which he could view Victorian society at its most sensationally, splendidly, irrationally excessive; in their conflation of hygienic reform and status-conscious innovation, the Victorians had created Highgate Cemetery as a theatre of mourning, a stage set of eternal repose. But as he did the research Robert was seduced by the personalities of the people buried in the cemetery, and his thesis began to veer into biography; he got sidetracked by anecdote, fell in love with the futility of elaborate preparations for an afterlife that seemed, at best, unlikely. He began to take the cemetery personally and lost all perspective.

He often sat with Michael Faraday, the famous scientist; Eliza Barrow, who had been a victim of the notorious serial murderer Frederick Seddon; he spent time brooding over the unmarked graves of foundlings. Robert had whiled away a whole night watching as falling snow covered Lion, the stone dog that kept watch over Thomas Sayers, the last of the bare-fisted prizefighters. Sometimes he borrowed a flower from Radclyffe Hall, who always had an abundance of blooms, and relocated it to some remote and friendless tomb.

Robert loved to watch the seasons revolve in Highgate. The cemetery was never without some green; many of the plants and trees had symbolised eternal life to the Victorians, and so even in winter the haphazard geometry of the graves was softened by evergreens, cypress, holly. At night stone and snow reflected back moonlight, and Robert sometimes felt himself become weightless as he crunched along the paths through a thin coverlet of white. Occasionally he brought a ladder from Vautravers’ garden shed and climbed up to the grass in the centre of the Circle of Lebanon. He would lean against the three-hundred-year-old Cedar of Lebanon, or lie on his back and watch the sky through its gnarled branches. There was seldom a visible star; they were all hidden by light pollution from London’s electric grid. Robert watched aeroplanes blinking through the Cedar of Lebanon’s leaves. At such times he felt a powerful sense of rightness: under his body, beneath the grass, the dead were quiet and peaceful in their little rooms; above him the stars and machines roamed the skies.

Tonight he stood by the Rossettis and thought about Elizabeth Siddal. He had rewritten the chapter devoted to her numerous times, more for the pleasure of thinking about Lizzie than because he had anything new to say about her. Robert fondled her life’s trajectory in his mind: her humble beginnings as a milliner’s girl; her discovery by the Pre-Raphaelite painters, who enlisted her as a model; her promotion to adored mistress of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Unexplained illnesses, her long-awaited marriage to Rossetti; a stillborn daughter. Her death by laudanum poisoning. A guilt-ridden Dante Gabriel, slipping a unique manuscript of his poems into his wife’s casket. Seven years later, the exhumation of Lizzie at night, by bonfire light, to retrieve the poems. Robert relished all of it. He stood with his eyes closed, imagining the grave in 1869, not so hemmed in by other graves, the men digging, the flickering light of the fire.

After what seemed to him a long time, Robert followed the obscure path back through the graves and began to wander.

He was unable to believe in heaven. In his Anglican childhood he had imagined a wide, spacious emptiness, sunlit and cold, filled with invisible souls and dead pets. As Elspeth began dying he’d tried to revive this old belief, digging into his scepticism as though belief were simply an older sediment, accessible through strip-mining layers of sophistication and experience. He reread Spiritualist tracts, accounts of hundred-year-old seances, scientific experiments with mediums. His rationality rebelled. It was history; it was fascinating; it was untrue.

LONDON WAS baking under a cloudless July sky. Robert reclined on a decrepit wicker chaise longue in Jessica Bates’s back garden, a gin and tonic sweating in his hand. He was watching Jessica’s grandchildren preparing to play croquet. It was Sunday afternoon. He had a vague sense of being in the wrong place; usually he and Jessica would both have been at the cemetery. On a glorious Sunday like this there would be loads of tourists clustered at the gates, wielding cameras and protesting at the rules about proper attire and no water bottles. They would be whingeing about the £5 charge for the tour and pointlessly insisting on bringing in prams and children under eight. But for some reason today there had been extra guides, and he and Jessica had been sent off with orders from Edward to “amuse yourselves, we’ll be fine here, don’t even think about us.” So now Jessica, who was eighty-four and incapable of leisure, was in her kitchen putting together lunch for twelve, and Robert (who had offered to help and been firmly escorted outside) lay idly watching as the children pounded the hoops and stake into the ground.

The grass was too long for croquet, but no one seemed to mind. “I wanted to get some sheep to crop the grass, but Jessica overruled me,” said James Bates. Jessica’s husband sat tucked into his lawn chair with a thin blanket; it made Robert hotter just to look at him. He was a tall man who had shrunk with age, and his gentle voice trembled a bit. He had large glasses that magnified his eyes, frail bones and a decisive manner. He had been a headmaster and now served as the cemetery’s archivist.

James gazed at his grandchildren fondly. They were bickering over the rules and trying to choose teams. He longed to get out of his chair, to walk across the lawn and play with them. He sighed and looked down at the book of crosswords in his lap. “This is quite ingenious,” he said, turning the page towards Robert. “All the clues are mathematical equations, then you translate the answers into letters and fill it in.”

“Ugh. Is that one of Martin’s?”

“Yes, he gave it to me for Christmas.”

“Sadistic devil.”

The children had arranged themselves around the first hoop and began to knock the coloured balls through it. The bigger children waited patiently for the smallest child to make her shot. “Well played, Nell,” said the tallest boy. James pointed his pen at Robert. “How are you getting on with Elspeth’s estate?”

A small feud erupted between two cousins over a ball hit out of bounds. Robert’s mind returned to Elspeth, who was never far from his thoughts. “Roche is corresponding with the twins. Elspeth’s sister was threatening to contest the will, but I think Roche has convinced her she’d lose. It must be something about America, this urge to litigate.”

“I still find it curious that Elspeth never mentioned having a twin.” James smiled. “It’s hard to imagine another one like her.”

“Yes…” Robert watched the children decorously tapping the balls across the lawn. “Elspeth said she and Edie weren’t very much alike in their personalities. She used to just hate being mistaken for her. Once we were in Marks & Spencer and this woman walked up to Elspeth and started chatting away, and it turned out that she was the mother of some boy Edie had gone out with. Elspeth was quite awful to her. The woman went off in a huff, and Elspeth had this rather puffed-up look about her, like one of those Brazilian frogs that get very large and spit at things that want to eat them.”

James laughed. “She was very large for such a small woman.”

“I used to carry her around. I carried her across Hampstead Heath once-she’d broken a heel.”

“Such high heels she used to wear.”

Robert sighed and thought about Elspeth’s dressing room, which doubled as an impromptu shoe museum. He had spent part of an afternoon there recently lying on the floor, petting her shoes and wanking off. He flushed. “I don’t know what to do with all her stuff.”

“Surely you needn’t do anything; when the twins come they’ll have to sort it out.”

“But they might throw things away,” said Robert.

“That’s true; they might.” James eased himself into a different position in his chair. His back hurt. He wondered why Elspeth had left all her worldly possessions to these girls, who might come and heave everything she’d loved into a skip. “Have you ever met them?”

“No. Actually, Elspeth never met them. She and Edie hadn’t spoken to each other since Edie ran off with Elspeth’s fiancé.” Robert frowned. “It’s a very odd will, really. The twins inherit most of the estate, but not until they’re twenty-one, at the end of this year. And they only inherit the flat if their parents never set foot in the place.”

“That’s a bit vengeful, don’t you think? How did she expect you to enforce that?”

“She just threw that in because she couldn’t stand the idea of Edie or Jack getting their hands on anything of hers. She knew it wasn’t practical.”

James smiled. “Such Elspethness. Why leave it to their daughters, then? Why not to you?”

“She left me the things that mattered to me.” Robert stared across the lawn, not seeing. “She was rather secretive about the twins. I think she had a sort of soft spot for them because they were twins; she imagined herself as Auntie Elspeth, even though she never even sent them birthday cards. It’s the extravagance of the thing that appealed to her, you know. It will completely alter their lives, and scoop them right out of their parents’ laps and into Elspeth World. What they will do with it is anyone’s guess.”

“Pity she won’t be able to meet them.”

“Yes.” Robert felt disinclined to discuss the will any further. The croquet game was degenerating into a free-for-all. Some of the younger boys were using their mallets as swords, and the girls were throwing Nell’s ball over her head as she leapt between them trying to rescue it. Only the two oldest boys were still doggedly hitting the balls through the hoops. At this moment Jessica happened to walk into the garden, noticed the mayhem, and stood with her arms akimbo, the very image of indignation. “Ahem,” she said. “What are you doing?” Jessica had a voice that rose and fell like a swooping kite. The children instantly stopped what they were doing and looked self-conscious, like cats that have fallen off something ungracefully and now sit licking themselves, pretending nothing has happened. Jessica walked carefully to where Robert and James sat. Two of her friends had broken their hips recently, so she had temporarily modified her habit of striding boldly wherever she went. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to James.

“How’s the lunch?” he asked her.

“Oh, it’ll be a while, the chicken’s roasting.” Jessica blotted her forehead with her handkerchief. Robert realised that he was not going to be able to eat roast chicken in this heat. He pressed his glass full of almost-melted ice to his cheek. Jessica looked him over. “You don’t look well,” she told him.

“No sleep,” he replied.

“Mmm,” Jessica and James said together. They exchanged glances. “Why’s that?” Jessica asked.

ELSPETH NOBLIN had been dead for almost a year now, and she was still figuring out the rules.

At first she had simply drifted around her flat. She had little energy and spent a great deal of time staring at her former possessions. She would doze off and reawaken hours, perhaps days later-she couldn’t tell, it didn’t matter. She was shapeless, and spent whole afternoons rolling around on the floor from one patch of sunlight to another, letting it heat every particle of her as though she were air, so that she rose and fell, warmed and cooled.

She discovered that she could get into small spaces, and this led to her first experiment. Her desk had one drawer which she had never been able to open. It must have been stuck, because the key that unlocked all the others didn’t work on the lower-left-hand drawer. It was a shame; it would have been handy for keeping files. Now Elspeth drifted into it through the keyhole. It was empty. She was slightly disappointed. But there was something about being in the drawer that she liked. Being compressed into two cubic feet gave her a solidity that she quickly became addicted to. She didn’t have separate body parts yet, but when she crowded into the drawer Elspeth felt sensations akin to touch: feelings that might be skin against hair, tongue against teeth. She began to stay in the drawer for long periods, to sleep, to think, to calm herself. It’s like going back to the womb, she thought, happy to be contained.

One morning she saw her feet. They were hardly there, but Elspeth recognised them and rejoiced. Hands, legs, arms, breasts, hips and torso followed, and finally Elspeth could feel her head and neck. It was the body she had died in, thin and scarred by needle holes and the wound where the port had been, but she was so glad to see it that for a long time she didn’t care. She gained opacity gradually-that is, she could see herself better and better; to Robert she was quite invisible.

He spent a lot of time in her flat, winding up her business, wandering around touching things, lying on her bed curled up with some piece of her clothing. She worried about him. He looked thin, ill, depressed. I don’t want to see this, she thought. She vacillated between urgently trying to make him aware of her and leaving him alone. He won’t get over it if he knows you’re here, she told herself.

He’s not getting over it anyway.

Sometimes she would touch him. It seemed to affect him like an icy draught; she could see the goosebumps rise on his skin as she ran her hands over him. He felt hot to her. She could only feel warmth and coolness now. Rough and smooth, soft and hard: these were lost to her. She had no sense of taste or smell. Elspeth was haunted by music; songs she had loved, or hated, or barely even noticed now played in her mind. It was impossible to be rid of them. They were like a radio played at low volume in a neighbouring flat.

Elspeth liked to close her eyes and caress her own face. She had substance under her own hands, even though the rest of the world slid through her as though she were walking in front of a film projected on a screen. She no longer went through any daily rituals of washing, dressing or applying make-up: calling a favourite jumper or dress to mind was enough to find herself wearing it. Her hair did not grow, much to Elspeth’s disappointment. It had been hard to see it all fall out, handful by handful, and when it had begun to come in again it was someone else’s hair, silver-grey in exchange for her blonde. It felt coarse when she ran her hands over it.

Elspeth was no longer reflected in mirrors. It drove her mad-she already felt marginal, and not being able to see her own face made her lonely. She sometimes stood in her front hall, looking intently into the various mirrors, but the most she caught was a dark, smudgy indication, as though someone had begun to draw on the air with charcoal and then rubbed it out, incompletely. She could hold out her arms and see her own hands quite visible before her. She could bend over and stare at her well-shod feet. But her face eluded her.

Being a ghost was mostly like that: it forced her to feed off the world. She no longer possessed anything. She had to take her pleasure in the doings of others, in their ability to move objects, consume food, breathe air.

Elspeth badly wanted to make noise. But Robert could not hear her, even when she stood inches away from him and yelled. Elspeth concluded that she had nothing to make a sound with-her ethereal vocal cords weren’t up to the task. So she concentrated on moving things.

At first things were utterly unresponsive. Elspeth would gather all her substance and fury and hurl herself at a sofa cushion or a book: nothing would happen. She tried to open doors, rattle teacups, stop clocks. The results were indiscernible. She decided to retrench, and began to attempt very small effects. One day she triumphed over a paper clip. By dint of patient tugging and pushing she managed to move it half an inch over the course of an hour. She knew then that she was not a negligible being: she could affect the world if she tried hard enough. So every day Elspeth practised. Eventually she could push the paper clip off the desk. She could flutter curtains and twitch the whiskers of the stuffed ermine who sat on her desk. She started to work on light switches. She could make a door sway a few inches, as though a breeze had come through the room. To her joy, she succeeded in turning the pages of a book. Reading had been Elspeth’s great pleasure in life, and now she could indulge in it again, as long as the book was left lying open for her. She began to work on pulling books from their places on the bookshelves.

As insubstantial as objects were to Elspeth, or she to them, the walls of the flat were absolute barriers and she could not pass beyond them. She didn’t mind this at first. She worried that if she went outside she would be dispersed by wind and weather. But eventually she became restless. If her territory had included Robert’s flat she would have been content. She tried many times to sink through the floor, but only ended up in a sort of puddle, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Attempts to slide under the front door into the hallway were also unsuccessful. She could hear Robert down in his flat, taking a shower, talking to the TV, playing Arcade Fire on the stereo. The sounds filled her with self-pity and resentment.

Open windows and doors were inviting but useless. Elspeth found herself dispersing, shapeless but still in the flat, as she tried to pass through them.

Elspeth wondered: Why? What is all this for? I understand the rationale behind heaven and hell, reward and punishment, but if this is limbo, what is the point? What am I supposed to be learning from the spiritual equivalent of house arrest? Is every dead person consigned to haunt his or her former home? If so, where are all the other people who lived here before me? Is this an oversight on the part of the celestial authorities?

She had always been lax when it came to religion. She had been C. of E. in the same way everyone else was: she supposed she believed in God, but it seemed rather uncool to make a fuss about Him. She had seldom been in church unless someone was dead or being wed; in retrospect she felt even more remiss because St. Michael’s was practically next door. I wish I could remember my funeral. It must have happened while she was rolling around the floor of the flat in an amorphous mist. Elspeth wondered if she should have been more assiduous about God. She wondered if she was going to be stuck in her flat for all eternity. She wondered if someone who was already dead could kill herself.

EDIE AND VALENTINA sat together in Edie’s workroom, sewing. It was the Saturday before Christmas; Julia had gone downtown with Jack to help him shop. Valentina pinned the dress pattern to yards of violet silk, careful to lay out the pieces without wasting fabric. She was making two identical dresses, and she wasn’t sure she’d bought enough silk.

“That’s good,” Edie said. The room was warm in the afternoon sun, and she felt a little sleepy. She offered Valentina her best scissors and watched the steel work through the thin material. That’s such a great sound, the blades moving together that way. Valentina handed Edie the pieces, and Edie began to transfer the seam lines from the pattern to the fabric. They passed the silk back and forth, working companionably out of long habit. Once the fabric was marked and unpinned and repinned without the pattern, Valentina sat at her sewing machine and carefully stitched the dress together while Edie began to pin and cut out the second dress.

“Look, Mom,” said Valentina. She stood and held the front of the dress against her chest. Static electricity wrapped the skirt around her with a crackle. There were no sleeves yet, and the seams were raw; Edie thought the dress was like a costume for a fairy in a Christmas pantomime. “You look like Cinderella,” Edie said.

“Do I?” Valentina went to the mirror and smiled at her reflection. “I like this colour.”

“It suits you.”

“Julia wanted me to make them in pink.”

Edie frowned. “You’d look like twelve-year-old ballerinas. We could have made hers pink.”

Valentina caught her mother’s eye, then looked away. “It wasn’t worth the hassle. She wanted whatever I was making for myself.”

“I wish you’d stand up to her more often, sweet.”

Valentina peeled the dress away from her and sat down at the machine. She began to make the sleeves. “Did Elspeth boss you around? Or did you boss her?”

Edie hesitated. “We didn’t-it wasn’t like that.” She laid the second dress flat on the table and began to roll the tracing wheel over the seam lines. “We did everything together. We never liked to be alone. I still miss her.” Valentina sat still, waiting for her mother to continue. But Edie said, “Send me photos of the flat, will you? I imagine it must be full of our parents’ furniture; Elspeth loved all that heavy Victorian stuff.”

“Okay, sure.” Valentina turned in her chair and said, “I wish we weren’t going.”

“I know. But it’s like your dad says: you can’t stay home forever.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Edie smiled. “That’s good.”

“I wish I could stay in this room forever, and sew things.”

“That sounds like a fairy tale.”

Valentina laughed. “I’m Rumpelstiltskin.”

“No, no,” said Edie. She put down the dress pieces and went to Valentina. Edie stood behind her and put her hands on her shoulders. She leaned over and kissed Valentina on her forehead. “You’re the princess.”

JACK WALKED into his den and found the twins watching a movie. It was midnight and usually all three of them would have been in bed by now.

“That looks somewhat familiar,” said Jack. “What are you watching?”

“The Filth and the Fury,” Julia said. “It’s a documentary about the Sex Pistols. You and Mom gave it to us for Christmas.”

“Oh.” The twins were sprawled together on the couch, so Jack lowered himself into the recliner. As soon as he was seated he felt exhausted. Jack had always enjoyed Christmas, but the days after Christmas seemed vacant and cheerless. The effect was compounded by the fact that the twins were leaving for London in a few days. Where did the time go? Five days until their twenty-first birthdays. Then gone.

“How’s the packing going?” he asked.

“Okay,” said Valentina. She turned off the sound on the TV. “We’re going to be over the weight limit.”

“Somehow that’s not surprising,” Jack said.

“We need to get converters, you know, to plug in our computers and stuff.” Julia looked at Jack. “Can we go downtown with you tomorrow?”

“Sure. We’ll have lunch at Heaven on Seven,” Jack said. “Your mom will want to come with.” Edie had been shadowing the twins for weeks, hoarding them, memorising them.

“That’s cool, we can go to Water Tower. We need new boots.”

Valentina watched Johnny Rotten singing silently. He looks deranged. That’s a great sweater. She and Julia had studiously prepared for the trip to London, reading Lonely Planet and Charles Dickens, making packing lists and trying to find their new flat on Google Earth. They had speculated endlessly about Aunt Elspeth and the mysterious Mr. Fanshaw, had been very pleasantly surprised by the amount of money in their new bank account at Lloyd’s. Now there was hardly anything left to do, which created an odd void, a feeling of restless dread. Valentina wanted to leave right this minute, or never.

Julia watched her father. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I dunno, you seem kind of wiped.” You’ve gained a huge amount of weight and you sigh a lot. What’s wrong with you?

“I’m okay. It’s just the holidays.”

“Oh.”

Jack sat trying to imagine the house/his marriage/his life without the twins. He and Edie had been avoiding the subject for months, so now he thought about it obsessively, oscillating between fantasies of marital bliss, his actual memories of the last time the twins had left home and his worries about Edie.

For some time before Elspeth’s death Edie had been distracted. Jack had hired the detective in hope of discovering the reason for her absentmindedness, her vacant stare, her bright, false cheer whenever he asked her about it. But the detective could only observe Edie; he had no answers for Jack’s questions. After Elspeth’s death Edie’s distraction had been replaced by a profound sadness. Jack could not comfort her. He could not seem to say the right thing, though he tried. Now he wondered how Edie would fare once the twins were gone.

Each time the twins left for college, things started out well. Jack and Edie revelled in their freedom: there would be late nights, loud sex, spur-of-the-moment amusements and slightly excessive drinking. But then a kind of bleakness always set in. Soon it would be upon them, their empty house. They would eat dinner together, just the two of them; the evening would stretch out before them in silence, to be filled with a DVD and perhaps a walk down to the beach or the club. Or they would retreat to opposite ends of the house, he to surf the Internet or read a Tom Clancy novel, Edie to work on her needlepoint while listening to an audio book. (She was currently listening to Brideshead Revisited, which Jack thought was pretty much guaranteed to produce a serious bout of depression.)

Tonight he didn’t see much to look forward to after the twins were gone. He felt grateful to them for having stuck around as long as they had, grateful to Edie and Elspeth for having arranged things so that Julia and Valentina could grow up in this ugly, comfortable house, so he could be Dad, so the girls could sit here in his room watching Johnny Rotten spastically singing “God Save the Queen” with the sound turned off; suddenly Jack was overwhelmed with a gratitude that felt like grief, and he struggled out of his chair, muttered Goodnight and left the room, afraid that if he sat there one minute longer he would cry or blurt out something he’d regret. He walked into his bedroom, where Edie slept curled up, faintly blue in the clock-radio light. Jack undressed silently, got into bed without brushing his teeth and lay there in an abyss, unable to imagine any happiness for himself ever again.

Valentina turned off the TV. The twins rose and stretched. “He seems really down,” said Valentina.

“They’re both, like, suicidal,” replied Julia. “I wonder what will happen when we’re gone?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

ROBERT STOOD in Elspeth’s office. The twins would arrive tomorrow. He had brought along an external hard drive and a few boxes from Sainsbury’s; these stood empty and open next to Elspeth’s enormous Victorian desk.

Elspeth sat on her desk and watched Robert. Oh, you don’t look happy, love. She had no idea how much time had passed. Had she died months ago? Years? Something was happening; until now Robert had kept her flat almost unchanged. He’d thrown out most of the food and cancelled her credit cards. She no longer received mail. He had closed her business and written personal letters to her customers. It was becoming very dusty in the flat. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer than she remembered; the windows needed washing.

Robert went through the drawers of Elspeth’s desk. He left the stationery and the invoices. He took some packets of photographs and a notebook she’d doodled in while she talked on the telephone. He went to the bookshelves and began carefully removing the ledgers she’d used as diaries, dusting them and placing them in the boxes. Open one, Elspeth said. Open that one. But of course Robert couldn’t hear her.

He worked in silence. Elspeth felt slighted; sometimes he talked to her when he was in the flat. Photo albums, a shoebox full of letters, notebooks went into the boxes. She wanted to touch him but held back. Robert plugged the hard drive into her computer and transferred her files. Then he wiped the computer of everything except the system and applications. Elspeth stood behind him and watched. How strange, to feel sad about the computer. I must really be dead now. Robert unplugged the hard drive and put it in a box.

He began roaming through the flat, box in hand, Elspeth trailing behind him. The bedroom, she urged silently. When he got there he stood in the doorway for a few minutes. Elspeth flowed by him and sat on the bed. She looked at him: there was something about her sitting here and the way he stood there and the light, the way the light bathed the room in dusty warmth. In a moment he’ll come over here and kiss me. Elspeth waited, forgetting. They had done this so many times.

Robert opened the door of her dressing room. He put the box down and opened a drawer. He put a few camisoles, a couple of bras and some of her fancier knickers into the box. He stood surveying her shoes. He’ll take the pink suede heels, Elspeth thought, and he did. He adjusted the position of the other shoes so there was no gap. Don’t forget the letters. He opened a drawer full of jumpers and smelled each one. The one he picked was a nondescript blue cashmere; she imagined it must not have been dry-cleaned since she’d worn it last. He opened another drawer and scooped their sex toys into the box. You missed one, Elspeth said, but he shut the drawer.

Robert reached up and retrieved a box from the top shelf. Elspeth smiled. She had counted on him to be thorough, and he was. He set it beside the box full of clothing.

Robert cleared out the bathroom. He threw most of her toiletries in the bin, but stood holding her diaphragm for a moment. What a daft thing to get sentimental about, she thought. Then that, too, went into the bin.

He shut the bathroom door and stood next to the bed, thinking. Then he lay down on the bed. Elspeth lay beside him, careful not to touch, hopeful. What if I don’t see you again? He was taking the things she had given him; he was leaving the flat. Don’t be shy, sweet. It’s justyou and me. She cheered when he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. She imagined herself naked beside him, and she was.

Sometimes he imitated her technique, but today he was rougher, more utilitarian with himself. Elspeth watched Robert’s face. She sat up and leaned over him; his eyes were closed. She touched his hair. She put her face close to his, let his breath warm her. So warm, so solid. She would have given anything to be alive with him then, to touch him. Elspeth knew that her touch was cold to him; whenever she’d tried to touch him he would shiver and shrink. So she knelt beside him, watching.

She had often marvelled at the play of expression in Robert’s face during sex. Desire, concentration, pain, endurance, hilarity, desperation, release: she sometimes felt as though she were watching a pageant of the extremes of Robert’s soul. Today it was determination, a kind of grim plea; it seemed to take a long time, and Elspeth began to be anxious. Enjoy it, at least. For both of us. She watched his hands on his cock, watched the way his toes curled, the sideways jerk of his head as he came. His body went slack. Robert opened his eyes and stared through Elspeth at the ceiling. I’m here, Robert.

A tear rolled halfway across his cheek. Don’t, sweet. Don’t cry. Elspeth had never seen Robert cry, not even in hospital, not even when she’d died. Oh, hell. I don’t want you to be so miserable. She reached down and touched the tear. Robert turned his head, startled.

I’m here I’m here I’m here. She looked around for something she could move, and began to sway the curtains, slightly. But Robert was sitting up, wiping his hands, fastening his trousers, not watching. She tried to shake the box of sex toys and knickers, but it was too heavy for her. She stood in the middle of the room, exhausted. Robert went into the bathroom and washed, came out holding the bin bag full of her things. He put it down and began straightening the bedclothes. Elspeth sat on the bed while he did this, and when he leaned over she put her hands against his chest, reaching through his shirt, touching his skin lightly. He recoiled.

“Elspeth?” He was whispering, urgent.

JULIA AND VALENTINA POOLE walked off the plane and into Heathrow Airport. Their white, patent-leather shoes hit the carpeting in perfect step, with movie-musical precision. They wore white kneesocks, white pleated skirts that ended four inches above their knees, and plain white T-shirts under white woollen coats. Each twin wore a long white scarf and wheeled a suitcase behind her. Julia’s suitcase was pink and yellow terry cloth, and had a Japanese cartoon-monkey face that leered at the people walking behind her. Valentina’s blue-and-green suitcase’s cartoon face was a mouse. The mouse looked both regretful and shy.

Outside the airport windows the morning sky was blue. The twins made their way through the endless corridors, stood to the right on people-movers, followed exhausted passengers down ramps and stairs. They stood in the queue for the Immigration officials, holding hands, yawning. When their turn came, the twins handed over their virginal passports.

“How long will you be staying?” asked the tired woman in the uniform.

“Forever,” said Julia. “We’ve inherited a flat. We’ve come to live in it.” She smiled at Valentina, who smiled back. The woman scrutinised their residency visas, stamped their passports and waved them into the UK.

Forever, Valentina thought. I will live forever with Julia in our apartment in London, which we have never seen, surrounded by people we haven’t met, forever. She squeezed Julia’s hand. Julia winked at her.

The black cab was draughty and cold. Valentina and Julia dozed in the backseat, their feet crowded by piles of luggage, still clutching each other’s hands. London streets flashed by or stood still; other drivers whooshed along, following incomprehensible traffic laws. Julia and Valentina had learned to drive, but as the taxi wove through congested serpentine streets, Julia realised that driving in London was going to be impossible, even for her, and certainly for the Mouse. The Mouse didn’t like to get lost, didn’t like to be in strange places. Plus they didn’t own a car. Julia resigned herself to taxis and public transportation. She watched a red double-decker bus swaying along beside them. Everyone inside looked tired and bored. How can you be bored? You live in London! You’re breathing the same air as the Queen and Vivienne Westwood!

The taxi passed a tube station. People swarmed out of it. Julia looked at her watch, which read 4:15. She reset it to 10:15. They turned onto Highgate Road, and Julia thought they must be getting close. She looked at Valentina, who was sitting up now and staring out the window. The taxi began to climb a steep hill. SWAINS LANE. “Is that like Lover’s Lane?” Valentina asked. “More like swine, miss,” said the driver. “They used to drive the pigs along here.” Valentina blushed. Julia took out her lipstick and applied it without a mirror, offered it to Valentina, who did the same. They looked at each other. Julia reached out and wiped a tiny bit of errant pink lipstick from the corner of Valentina’s mouth. Over the radio came a long string of code-like names and numbers: Tamworth one, Burton Albion one; Barnet nil, Woking nil; Exeter City nil, Hereford United one; Aldershot two, Dagenham and Red-bridge one… “Football scores, miss,” said the driver when Julia asked.

They reached the top of the hill and drove along a narrow street with a park on one side, brick houses on the other. A large church stood in the middle of the block, and the cab pulled up halfway between it and the blank-faced stucco building just after it. “Here it is. Vautravers Mews.” The driver took Julia’s money. She was shocked when she realised they’d just spent almost $120 on a cab ride. She tipped ten per cent. “Thank you,” said the driver. Valentina opened the taxi door and cold wet wind rushed at her.

“I don’t see it,” she called to Julia. The church was on the left, and the stucco building was number 72. Between them was a narrow asphalt path that descended precipitously into gloom. It was overshadowed by a huge brick wall that bounded the church’s property. But Valentina couldn’t see any house that might be theirs.

“It’ll be along here,” said the taxi driver. “Shall I help you with those?” He picked up an impossible number of suitcases and walked down the path. Julia and Valentina followed, wheeling their terry-cloth suitcases. The little path led them behind the stucco house, and then they saw a high stone wall with spikes set on top. Rampant birch trees spilled over it. Valentina smelled damp earth, and it made her homesick. Julia was opening a heavy wooden gate with a large key. The gate swung silently, and Julia disappeared behind the wall. The driver had placed the suitcases in a neat row; Valentina stood on the asphalt near them, reluctant to go in. The driver looked at her curiously. He was a thinnish, oldish man with watery blue eyes. He wore a bright green cardigan and brown plaid trousers. “Are you all right, miss?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m fine,” said Valentina, although she actually felt somewhat nauseated.

“Come on, Mouse!” Julia yelled. Her voice sounded muffled and remote.

“You’re Americans?” said the driver.

“Our aunt left us her apartment in her will,” Valentina said. Then she felt foolish. Why should he care?

“Ah,” said the driver. This seemed to satisfy his curiosity about them. Valentina felt a surge of gratitude. He wasn’t going to ask about them being twins. Maybe he felt that would be too personal. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed. She loved it when people failed to notice.

“Mouse!”

The driver gave her a little smile. “Go on, then.” Valentina smiled back, and dragged her suitcase through the gate.

Julia was standing at the front door with her hand on the doorknob. She waited for Valentina to make her way over the squishy moss that covered the stones in the footpath. Valentina looked at the great dark bulk of Vautravers, at the black windows and elaborate ironwork, and shivered. It wasn’t quite raining, but it wasn’t exactly not raining either. She heard the driver squelching along the path behind her. Julia opened the door.

They stepped into the front hall. In contrast to the outside of the building, it was warm, neat and virtually empty. The walls were painted a pinkish grey, a colour that reminded Valentina of brains. To the right was a closed oak door with a tiny hand-lettered card that read FANSHAW. In front of them a small table held three empty baskets; an umbrella leaned against the table. To their left was a staircase, which curved and rose above their heads. Valentina thought there ought to be a little bottle labelled DRINK ME, but there wasn’t.

“You can just leave those here,” said Julia to the driver. Valentina said, “Thank you.” The driver replied, “Good luck, then,” and was gone. Valentina felt a little bereft. “Come on,” said Julia. She bounded up the stairs as though she’d been released from gravity. Valentina followed more sedately.

On the next landing a faded Oriental carpet appeared. The stairs continued, but the twins stopped. The card on the door was pale green, and NOBLIN was typed on it, apparently with an actual typewriter. Julia inserted the key into the keyhole. She had to wiggle it back and forth a few times before she got the lock open. She looked back at Valentina. Valentina took Julia’s hand, and together they walked into their new home.

THE FOLLOWING morning Julia and Valentina went to see Mr. Xavier Roche, their solicitor. Actually, he was Elspeth’s solicitor; the twins had inherited him along with the rest of Elspeth’s things. For many months now Mr. Roche had been sending them papers to be signed, as well as instructions and keys and dry, admonitory emails.

Their cab deposited them in front of a faux-Tudor Hampstead office block. The firm of Roche, Elderidge, Potts & Lefley was above a travel agency. The twins climbed the narrow stairs and found themselves in a small anteroom which contained a door, a bare desk, a swivel chair, two uncomfortable armchairs, a small table and a copy of The Times. The twins sat in the armchairs for ten minutes, feeling anxious, but nothing happened. Finally Julia got up and opened the door. She beckoned to Valentina.

In the next room was another desk, but this one was occupied by a neat, elderly secretary and an enormous beige computer. The office was done in a style that Elspeth had always referred to as Early Thatcher. To the twins it seemed oddly modest; it was their introduction to the British proclivity for making certain things important and shabby, expensive and self-deprecating all at once. The secretary ushered them into another office decorated in the same style but with more books, and said, “Please sit down. Mr. Roche will be with you directly.”

Mr. Roche, when he arrived, was startling, even Dickensian, but not in the way the twins had imagined. He was an old man. He had been quite small to begin with and had shrunk with age; he walked using a stick, slowly, so that the twins had plenty of time to consider his comb-over, his prodigious eyebrows and his well-made but loose-fitting suit as he crossed the carpet and took each of their hands in turn, gently. “The Misses Poole,” he said, in a grave voice. “It is a great pleasure to meet you both.” He had dark eyes and a prominent nose. Julia thought, He looks like Mom’s gnome cookie jar. Elspeth had sometimes called him Mr. Imp, though never in his hearing.

“Let’s sit here at the table, shall we?” he said, moving incrementally. Valentina pulled out a chair for him and then the twins stood and waited while he eased himself into it. “It’s so much nicer and more informal than the desk, don’t you think? Constance will bring us some tea. Oh, thank you, my dear. Now then, tell me all about your adventures. What have you done since you’ve arrived?”

“Slept, mostly,” said Julia. “We’re pretty jet-lagged.”

“And has Robert Fanshaw been to see you?”

“Um, no. But we just got here yesterday,” Julia said.

“Ah, well, I expect he’ll come by today, then. He’s very eager to meet you.” Mr. Roche smiled and looked at each of them in turn. “You are astonishingly like your mother’s side of the family. If I didn’t know better I’d think I was sitting with Edie and Elspeth, twenty years ago.” He poured them each some tea.

Valentina asked, “You knew them then?” Mr. Roche was so ancient that she would have believed it if he claimed acquaintance with Queen Victoria.

He smiled. “Dear child, my father was your great-grandfather’s solicitor. I dandled your grandfather on my knee when he was tiny, and when your mother and aunt were small they used to sit on that carpet and play with blocks whilst I talked to their parents, just as the three of us are talking now.” The twins smiled back at him. “It’s a pity that Elspeth is no longer here to greet you. But I can tell you that she was excited about your coming to live here, and she has provided for you quite handsomely. I hope the terms of the will are clear?”

“We have to live in the flat for a year before we can sell it,” said Julia.

“Mom and Dad can’t visit us,” said Valentina.

“No, no,” said Mr. Roche. “I certainly hope your parents will come and visit you; that isn’t what Elspeth meant. She only stipulated that they aren’t to be in the flat.”

“But why not?” said Valentina.

“Ah.” Mr. Roche looked regretful. He spread his gnarled hands, tilted his head. “Elspeth often kept her own counsel. Have you asked your mother? No, I imagine she wouldn’t want to discuss it.” Mr. Roche watched the twins as he spoke. It seemed to Julia that he was expecting some kind of reaction from them. “People can be odd about their wills. All sorts of strange things get put into wills, often with unintended effects.”

He waited for them to say something. The twins shifted in their chairs, embarrassed by his scrutiny. Finally Julia said, “Oh?” But Mr. Roche only lowered his eyes and reached for a folder.

“Now then,” he said, “let me show you how your money is invested.” The twins found the next half hour confusing but thrilling. They had made money babysitting, and had spent one summer as counsellors at a Girl Scout camp in Wisconsin, but they had never imagined possessing the sums Mr. Roche spread before them.

“How much is there altogether?” Julia asked.

“Two and a half million pounds or so, if we include the value of the flat.”

Julia glanced at Valentina. “We can live on that pretty much forever,” she said. Valentina frowned.

MARTIN PUT the phone down on the bed. The bed was an island. Around the bed was a sea of contamination. Martin had been crouching on the bed for four hours. Luckily there were survival tools there in bed with him: the telephone, some bread and cheese, his worn copy of Pliny. Martin wanted very much to leave the bed. He needed to pee, and he was hoping to get some work done today. His computer sat waiting for him in the office. But somehow Martin sensed, he knew, that there had been a hideous accident in the night. The bedroom floor was covered with filth. Germs, shit, vomit: someone had got into the flat and smeared this horrible slime over the floor. Why? Martin wondered. Why does this always happen? Is this possible? No, it’s not real. But what can I do about it?

As if he had asked the question out loud, an answer came to him: Count backwards from a thousand, in Roman numerals. Touch the headboard while you do it. Of course! Martin began to comply, but faltered at DCCXXIII and had to start again. As he counted, he wondered, with a separate part of his brain, why this was necessary. He lost track again, started again.

The telephone rang. Martin ignored it and tried to focus on counting. It rang three more times, then the answering machine picked up. Hello, this is Martin and Marijke Wells. We’re not here now. Please leave a message. Beep. A pause. “Martin? Come on, pick up, I know you’re there. You’re always there.” Robert’s voice. “Martin.” A click. Martin realised that he had lost track of his counting again. He threw the telephone across the bedroom. It smashed against the wall and began to buzz. Martin was horrified. Now he would have to replace the phone. It was on the floor, contaminated. The light in the bedroom was afternoon light, slanted. He had failed to escape from the bed. Once again, he had allowed his madness to rule him.

But an idea came to him. Yes: he would simply move the bed. The bed was large, wooden, antique. Martin clambered to the footboard and began to rock the bed, to propel the bed towards the bathroom. The bed moved in inches, its small wooden wheels scraping the floorboards. But it did move. Martin was sweating, concentrating, almost joyous. He rode the bed across the bedroom, inch by inch, and finally, stepping onto the bath mat, he was free.

A few minutes later, just as he had finished peeing and was beginning to wash his hands, Martin heard Robert moving through the flat and calling his name. He waited until Robert was in the bedroom before he said, “In here.” He heard a sound which he thought was probably Robert moving the bed back to its usual location.

Robert stood outside the door. “Are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine. I think I’ve broken the phone. Could you unplug it?”

Robert walked away and came back with the telephone in his hands. “It’s fine, Martin.”

“No, it’s…it was on the floor.”

“So it’s contaminated?”

“Yes. Could you take it away? I’ll order a new one.”

“Martin, couldn’t I just decontaminate it for you? This is the third phone in what? A month? I was just listening to a report on Radio Four about how British landfills are chock-full with old computers and mobiles. It seems a shame to toss a perfectly functional phone.”

ROBERT HAD been imagining the arrival of the twins for a year. He had whole conversations with them in his mind: he told them about London, the cemetery, Elspeth; he chatted to them about restaurants, his thesis, all sorts of things. As he went about his days in the long year of their imminent arrival, Robert noted points of interest-There’s Dick Whittington’s cat. They’ll want to know about that…I’ll take them to Postman’s Park, to the Hunterian Museum, to the John Soane. We’ll ride the London Eye at sunset. He and Elspeth had done all these things together. We’ll go round Dennis Severs’ house at Christmas. And the Foundling Museum. Robert became, in his imagination, the tour guide of the twins’ London lives, their indispensable sherpa, their native speaker. They would naturally come to him with their little dilemmas and queries; avuncular, he would advise them and aid them in their London initiation. Robert had looked forward to the twins. He had enveloped them with so many witticisms, expectations and hopes that now, when Julia and Valentina had finally actually arrived, Robert was quite frightened of them.

He had thought that he would simply walk upstairs, knock on their door and introduce himself. But the sound of their footsteps and laughter paralysed him. He watched them come and go, traipsing through the front garden in matching frocks, carrying bags of groceries, flowers, an ugly lamp. Why do they need a lamp? Elspeth has plenty of lamps.

They knocked on his door once or twice a day. Each time, Robert stood motionless, interrupted at his desk, or during his dinner; he could hear them speaking softly to each other in the hall. Just open the door, he told himself. Don’t be such a wanker.

He hesitated before their twinness; they seemed sublime and inviolable together. Each morning he watched them navigating the slippery path to the gate. They appeared so self-sufficient, and conversely so reliant on each other, that he felt rejected without having ever exchanged a word with either of them.

One bright chilly morning Robert stood at his front window, coffee in hand, wearing his coat and hat, waiting. Eventually he heard the twins galumphing down the stairs. He watched them cross the yard and let themselves out of the gate.

Then he followed them.

They led him across Pond Square, through Highgate Village and along Jackson’s Lane to the Highgate tube station. He hung back, let them disappear, then panicked that a train might come and whisk them off. He ran down the escalator. The station was nearly deserted, it was half eleven. He found them again on the southbound platform, positioned himself just close enough to get into the same carriage. They sat near the middle doors. He sat across from them, fifteen feet away. One twin studied a pocket tube map. The other leaned back in her seat and studied the adverts. “Look,” she said to her sister, “we could fly to Transylvania for a pound each.” Robert was startled to hear her soft American accent, so different from Elspeth’s confident Oxbridge voice.

He avoided looking at them. He thought of a cat his mum had, Squeak; every time they took it to the vet’s surgery, the cat tucked its head under Robert’s arm and hid. She seemed to think that if she couldn’t see the vet, the vet couldn’t see her. Robert did not look at the twins, so they would not see him.

They got off at Embankment and changed for the District line. Eventually they emerged from Sloane Square station and wandered haltingly into Belgravia, stopping often to consult their A-Z. Robert never came to this part of London, so he, too, became quickly lost. He hung back, keeping his eye on them and feeling pervy and gormless, not to mention highly noticeable. Smart young Sloanes of both sexes marched past him, toting inscrutable shopping bags, mobiles clamped to their ears. Little fogs of breath emanated from their mouths as they rushed by, chatting to themselves like actors rehearsing. The twins seemed tentative and childish by comparison.

They wandered into a side street and became suddenly excited, skipping along and craning their necks at the shop numbers. “Here!” said one. They went into a tiny hat shop, Philip Treacy, and spent an hour trying on hats. Robert watched them from across the street. The twins took turns with the hats, turning in front of what must have been a mirror. The shopgirl smiled at them and offered an enormous lime-green spiral. A twin put it on her head and all three of them looked quite pleased.

Robert wished that he smoked, as it would have provided an excuse to stand about in the street looking pointless. Maybe I should go and have a pint. They look as though they’ll be at this all afternoon. The twins were exclaiming over a plastic orange disc that reminded Robert of the dinner-plate-like halos in medieval paintings. I need a disguise. Maybe a beard. Or a hazmat suit. The twins came out of the shop without any bags.

Robert trailed them all over Knightsbridge, watching them window-shop, eat crepes, gawk at other shoppers. Midafternoon they vanished into the underground. Robert let them go and took himself to the British Library.

He put his things in a locker and went upstairs to the Humanities 1 reading room. The room was crowded and he found a seat between a beaky woman surrounded by books about Christopher Wren and a hirsute young man who seemed to be researching Jacobite housekeeping practices. Robert did not order any books; he didn’t even check on the books he had previously ordered. He put both palms flat on the desk top and closed his eyes. I feel odd. He wondered if he was coming down with the flu. Robert was aware of a split within himself-he was filled with contradictory emotions, some of which included shame, exhilaration, accomplishment, confusion, disgust with himself and a strong desire to follow the twins again tomorrow. He opened his eyes and tried to pull himself together. You can’t spy on them like this. They’ll notice sooner or later. Robert imagined Elspeth chiding him: “Don’t be gutless, sweet. Just open the door the next time they knock.” Then he thought she would have laughed at him. Elspeth never understood shyness. Don’t laugh at me, Elspeth, Robert said to her in his mind. Don’t.

The call light at his desk lit up. Robert realised that he must be sitting in someone else’s seat. He glanced around, then got up and left the reading room. He took the tube home. As he walked down the path to Vautravers he saw lights in the windows of the middle flat, and his heart contracted in joy. Then he remembered it was only the twins. Today was a one-off. Tomorrow I’ll knock on their door and introduce myself properly.

The next morning he followed them to Baker Street and paid twenty quid to wander around Madame Tussauds at a discreet distance from the twins as they made fun of wax versions of Justin Timberlake and the Royal Family. The day after that they all went to the Tower and then took in a puppet show on the Embankment. Robert began to despair. Don’t you ever do anything interesting? Days passed in a blur of Neal’s Yard, Harrods, Buckingham Palace, Portobello Road, Westminster Abbey and Leicester Square. Robert sensed the twins’ determination: they seemed to be circling London’s most public spheres, looking for a rabbit hole into the real city underneath. They were trying to construct a personal London for themselves out of the Rough Guide and Time Out.

Robert had been born in Islington. He had never lived anywhere but London. His geography of London was a tangle of emotional associations. Street names evoked girlfriends, schoolmates, boring afternoons playing truant and doing nothing in particular; rare outings with his father to obscure restaurants and the zoo, raves in East-London warehouses. He began to pretend that the twins were taking him on school outings, that they were all three attending an exotic public school with odd uniforms and a curriculum of tourism. He stopped thinking about what he was doing, or worrying very much about being caught. Their obliviousness frightened him. They lacked the urban camouflage skills young women ought to have. People stared at them all the time, and they seemed to be aware of this without making very much of it, as though being the objects of constant attention was natural to them.

They led and he followed. He went to the cemetery intermittently. When Jessica asked, he told her he was working at home on his thesis. She looked at him curiously; later he noticed the messages piled up on his answering machine and understood that she thought he was avoiding her.

Then the twins stayed in several days running. One twin did little errands by herself. Robert worried. I should go up and check on them. By now he felt that he knew them well, but he had never spoken to them. He missed them. He berated himself for becoming immersed in their lives. Still, he hesitated to begin. He found himself spending whole days sitting quietly in his flat, listening, waiting, worrying.

VALENTINA DIDN’T feel well that morning, so Julia went to the Tesco Express to buy chicken soup, Ritz crackers and Coke, which the twins considered to be the proper cuisine for invalids. As soon as Julia left, Valentina dragged herself out of bed, threw up in the toilet, went back to bed and lay on her side, knees pulled to her chest, burning with fever. She stared at the rug, tracing the gold-and-blue shapes with her eyes. She began to fall asleep.

Someone leaned over and looked at her closely. The person did not touch her; she merely had the feeling that someone was there, that this person was concerned about her. Valentina opened her eyes. She thought she saw something dark, indistinct. It moved towards the foot of the bed. Valentina heard Julia come in the front door, and she woke up completely. There was nothing at the foot of the bed.

In a little while, Julia came into the room with a tray. Valentina sat up. Julia put the tray down and gave her a glass of Coke. Valentina rattled the ice cubes against the glass, touched it to her cheek. She took a tiny sip of Coke, then a bigger sip. “There was something weird in the room,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Julia.

VALENTINA DIDN’T like the underground. It was dark and fast and dirty; it was crowded. She didn’t like being pressed against people, feeling someone’s breath on her neck, hanging onto a pole and being pitched against sweaty men. Most of all, Valentina did not like being underground. Somehow, the fact that the whole thing was called the underground made it worse. She took the bus whenever she could.

She tried not to let Julia know that the tube frightened her, but somehow Julia guessed. Now, every time they went out, Julia would spread out the tube map on the dining-room table and plot out elaborate routes that necessitated at least three changes. Valentina never said anything. She trudged along beside Julia, rode endless escalators into bottomless underground stations. Tonight they were going to the Royal Albert Hall to see a circus. They began at Archway. At Warren Street the twins had to change from the Northern line to the Victoria line, and found themselves moving with a number of other people down a long white-tiled corridor. Valentina held Julia’s hand. She mentally checked the zipper of her purse, thinking of pickpockets. Valentina wondered if everyone could tell they were Americans. The crowd moved like syrup.

Valentina noticed a man walking in front of them.

He was quite tall and had ear-length, brown wavy hair. He wore a white button-down shirt tucked into brown corduroy trousers and carried a thick paperback book. He wore wingtip shoes without socks. The man walked with the long, loose-jointed stride of a Labrador retriever or a tree sloth. He was soft-bodied and pallid. Valentina wondered what he was reading. The twins followed him onto an elevator. He walked ahead of them through tunnels and then they stood behind him on the escalator, one of the long ones that made Valentina feel as though the world had tilted, as though she were subject to some new, weird gravity. Finally they found the platform for the Victoria line.

Valentina tried to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. It ended in sis. Kafka? Too thick. He wore small gold wire-rimmed glasses and had a kind face, a face with lots of jaw and a long narrow nose, which he proceeded to stick into his book. His eyes were brown and hooded, heavily lashed. The train was coming. It was packed, and the doors opened and shut without anyone getting off or on. The man glanced up and resumed reading.

Julia was talking about an accident she had seen that morning, in which a pedestrian, an older woman, had been hit by a moped. Valentina tried not to listen. Julia knew she was afraid of crossing the streets. Valentina always stubbornly waited for the green man, even when there were no cars in sight, even when Julia skipped across the street and stood waving at her from the other side. “Stop it,” she said to Julia. “If you don’t shut up I’m going to stay home forever, and you’ll have to carry all the groceries yourself.” Julia looked surprised, and to Valentina’s relief, she was silent.

THE TWINS found virginity burdensome, each in her own way.

Julia had experimented some. In high school she had let boys kiss and/or fondle her in cars, in the bedrooms of friends’ parents at parties when those parents were out of town, once in a ladies’ room at Navy Pier, and several times on the doorstep of Jack and Edie’s unimpressive ranch house, which she always wished was a gigantic Victorian with a porch so she could sit with the boy in a porch swing and eat ice cream and they could lick it off each other’s lips while Valentina spied on them from the darkened living room. But there was no porch, and the kisses were as lacklustre as the house.

Julia remembered fending off boys on the beach, behind the shelter in West Park after ice skating, in a music-practice room at the high school. She remembered each boy’s reaction, the various shadings of confusion and anger. “Well, why d’ya come in here, then?” the boy in the practice room had asked her, and she had no answer.

What did she want? What was it she imagined these boys could do to her? And why did she always stop them before they could do it?

Valentina was more sought after, and not as proficient at saying no. During the twins’ teen years it was Valentina who was singled out by the quiet boys, and by the boys who thought of themselves as nascent rock stars. While Julia chose boys who weren’t interested in her and then chased them, Valentina dreamily ignored them all and won hearts. She was always surprised when the boy who sat behind her in algebra declared his love as she unchained her bike; when the editor of the school paper asked her to the prom.

“You should let them come to you,” Valentina said, when Julia complained about the discrepancy. But Julia was impatient, and cared about being passed over. These things are fatal to romance, especially if a more indifferent version of yourself is nearby.

Sex was interesting to Valentina, but the individual boys she might have had sex with were not. When she focused her attention on a boy, that boy always seemed to her unfinished, dull, absurd. She was used to the profound intimacy of her life with Julia, and she did not know that a cloud of hope and wild illusion is required to begin a relationship. Valentina was like the veteran of a long marriage who has forgotten how to flirt. The boys who followed her through the hallways of Lake Forest High School at a safe distance lost their ardour when it was met with polite bewilderment.

And so the twins had remained virgins. Julia and Valentina watched all of their high school and college friends disappear one by one into the adult world of sex, until they were the only people they knew who lingered in the world of the uninitiated. “What was it like?” they asked each friend. The answers were vague. Sex was a private joke: you had to be there.

The twins worried about virginity individually, and they worried about it together. But the most basic problem was one they never talked about: sex was something they couldn’t do together. Someone would have to go first, and then the other would be left behind. And they would each have to pick different guys, and these guys, these potential boyfriends, would want to spend time alone with one or the other; they would want to be the important person in Julia or Valentina’s life. Each boyfriend would be a crowbar, and soon there would be a gap; there would be hours in the day when Julia wouldn’t even know where Valentina was, or what she was doing, and Valentina would turn to tell Julia something and instead there would be the boyfriend, waiting to hear what she was about to say although only Julia would have understood it.

It was a delicate thing, their private world. It required absolute fidelity, and so they remained virgins, and waited.

JULIA PRESENTED herself at Martin’s door at exactly four o’clock the next afternoon; Valentina had had an attack of shyness and refused to come. A man had arrived that morning and had begun to repair their bedroom ceiling, so Julia felt she ought to keep her promise.

Julia wore jeans and a white blouse. When Martin answered the door she was startled to see that he wore a suit and tie. He was also wearing latex surgical gloves, which made him look like a TV butler.

“Do come in,” he said. He led her through the flat to the kitchen, which was surprisingly cosy, though the windows were covered in newspaper and tape. “We always eat in here,” Martin said. “The dining room has been taken over by boxes.” He said this as though he had no idea how it had come to pass.

“You have a family?” It had not occurred to Julia that anyone might be married to this crazy person.

“Yes, I have a wife and a son. My wife is in Amsterdam and my son is up at Oxford.”

“Oh. Is she on vacation?”

“I suppose you could put it that way. I’m not really sure when she’s coming back, so I’ve been making shift for myself. Things are a little improvisational here at the moment.” Martin had set out three places at the kitchen table. Julia sat down at the one that faced the back door, in case I need to escape.

“Valentina couldn’t come. She isn’t feeling too well,” Julia said; it was sort of true.

“That’s unfortunate. Another time,” said Martin. He felt pleased with himself; he had contrived, at short notice, a very passable afternoon tea. There were fish-paste sandwiches, as well as cucumber and cress; there was a Victoria sponge cake. He had set out Marijke’s mother’s china, and there was a little jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes. He thought it looked quite as nice as what Marijke would have done. “What kind of tea would you like?” he asked.

“Earl Grey?”

He pressed the button on the electric kettle and plopped a tea bag into the teapot. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be done, but one gets lazy.”

“How are you supposed to do it?”

“Oh, you warm the pot, you use loose tea…but I can’t taste the difference, and I drink a lot of tea, so the ritual has devolved somewhat.”

“Our mom uses tea bags,” Julia assured him.

“Then that must be correct,” said Martin gravely. The water boiled (he had actually boiled it a few times before Julia arrived, just to make sure the kettle was working) and Martin made tea. Soon they were both seated, drinking tea and eating sandwiches. Well-being pervaded Martin. He had not realised how much he’d missed sharing a meal with another human. Julia looked up and saw him beaming at her. He might be insane, but he’s very cheerful.

“So, um, how long have you lived here?” she asked him.

“Twenty-some years. We lived in Amsterdam when we were first married, and then we lived in St. John’s Wood. We bought this flat just before Theo was born.”

IT WAS a dreary Saturday evening in mid-February. Rain was lashing the windows; Elspeth wondered if perhaps that would wash any of the grime off them. Julia and Valentina were eating their dinner in front of the TV. They’re going to get some kind of vitamin deficiency, Elspeth thought. They never seem to eat anything green. Tonight it was tinned chicken soup, peanut butter on toast and semi-skimmed milk. The twins watched copious amounts of television (Julia joked that they had to learn the language somehow), but tonight they seemed to be making a point of sitting down to watch a particular programme. It turned out to be Doctor Who.

Elspeth hovered above them, lying on her stomach, chin resting on folded arms. Isn’t there anything else on TV? She was a snob about science fiction and hadn’t seen an episode of Doctor Who since the early eighties. Eh, I suppose it’s better than nothing. She watched Julia and Valentina watching the television. They ate their soup slowly from mugs and looked keen. Elspeth happened to glance at the screen in time to see the Doctor walk out of the TARDIS and into a defunct spaceship.

That’s David Tennant! Elspeth zoomed over to the television and sat herself a foot away from it. The Doctor and his companions had discovered an eighteenth-century French fireplace on the spaceship. A fire burned in the hearth. I want a fire, Elspeth thought. She had been experimenting with warming herself over the flames of the stove on the rare occasions that the twins cooked anything. The Doctor had crouched down by the fire and was conversing with a little girl in Paris in 1727 who seemed to be on the other side of the fireplace. Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you’re dead? This is a very strange programme. The little girl turned out to be the future Madame de Pompadour. Clockwork androids from the spaceship were trying to steal her brain.

“Cyber-steampunk, or steam-cyberpunk?” asked Julia. Elspeth had no idea what she meant. Valentina said, “Look at her hair. Do you think we could do that?”

“It’s a wig,” said Julia. The Doctor was reading Madame de Pompadour’s mind. He put his hands on her head, palms enclosing her face, fingers delicately splayed around her ears. Such long fingers, Elspeth marvelled. She placed her small hand on top of David Tennant’s. The screen was deliciously warm. Elspeth sunk her hand into it, just an inch or so.

“God, that’s weird,” said Valentina. There was a dark silhouette of a woman’s hand superimposed over the Doctor’s. He let go of Madame de Pompadour’s face, but the black hand remained where it was. Elspeth took her hand away; the screen hand stayed black. “How did you do that?” said the Doctor. Elspeth thought he was speaking to her, then realised that Madame de Pompadour was answering him. I must have burned out the screen. What if I could do that with my face? She tucked her entire self into the TV and found herself looking out through the screen. It was wonderful inside the television, quite warm and pleasantly confining. Elspeth had only been in there for a second or two when the twins saw the screen go black. The TV died.

“Drat,” said Julia. “It looks like a newish set too.” She got up and started fiddling with the buttons, to no avail.

“Maybe it’s under warranty,” said Valentina. “I wonder where she got it?”

FOR DAYS Martin had been hearing noises in the eaves. Something was scampering, clawing, scratching in the space between his ceiling and the roof. Martin called Robert. Robert called the pest-control man, whose name was Kevin.

Kevin duly arrived first thing Monday morning. He was an enormous man, at least twenty stone, both tall and wide. He didn’t say anything as Martin and Robert led him through the darkened rooms with their piles of boxes. Martin wondered how such an immense human was going to manage to get through the small trapdoor in the dressing room ceiling that provided access to the eaves.

Kevin pulled down the ladder, took out a torch and squeezed himself through the hole with a soft grunt. Robert and Martin heard his boots treading from joist to joist. Martin felt a bit queasy, staring up at the hole. Something might come running out of it. Perhaps whatever it was had fleas; perhaps Kevin would bring the fleas down with him on his boots. He seemed to be up there a long time. Martin became very uneasy. Robert said, “You don’t have to stand here. Why don’t you go and have a fag at your desk. I’ll wait for him.” Martin shook his head. The faint boot treads seemed to be moving around the outer perimeter of the building. “Have you ever been up there?” Robert asked.

“When we first lived here Marijke went up. And we had some problems with the roof, but that was before you came. It’s just boards and insulation.” Martin wondered if he could persuade Kevin to remove his boots before he stepped off the ladder. Not likely.

The boot treads approached; Kevin appeared in the opening, lowered himself onto the ladder. Martin stared at his boots. Robert said, “See anything?”

“There’s nowt up there,” said Kevin. “You’ve got very empty eaves.”

“Hmm,” said Robert. “They must be on the roof, not in the roof.”

“That’ll be it, perhaps.”

Robert saw him out and came back upstairs. Martin was scrubbing the dressing-room floor.

“Well?” said Robert.

“That’s a deep subject,” Martin replied.

“My grandfather used to say that.”

Martin said, “Why haven’t you introduced yourself to Elspeth’s girls? They’ve been here for six weeks.”

Robert leaned against the doorjamb and thought about it. “I don’t know. I’ve been rather busy. I had their ceiling fixed, though.” He watched Martin scrubbing and said, “You might use a bit less water when you do that, or you’ll be bringing down their dressing-room ceiling as well and all Elspeth’s shoes will be ruined.”

“They’re charming. Or, one of them is. I haven’t met the other one. She was quite Elspeth-like.”

“In what way?”

“That devastating forthrightness. Elspeth could wield it better, of course; Julia seems a bit out of control. But really, she’s a lovely girl. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Robert made a little snorting sound that Martin correctly translated as Kindly back off. “These noises you’ve been hearing. Are you sure they’re animal noises? I noticed the big oak has grown over the roof. Perhaps we need to call a tree surgeon and get things trimmed up. It couldn’t hurt.”

“All right.” Martin was convinced that the eaves were infested with something, but he knew better than to insist on it now that the pest-control man had checked things out and found nothing. Martin knew that there were two realities: the actual one and the felt one. In the past he had tried to explain, but Robert didn’t understand and invariably started talking about medication in a serious, almost patronising manner. Martin stopped scrubbing and stared at the floor, then closed his eyes and consulted his feeling about the floor. The urge to clean it was satisfied. He stood up and gathered his bucket and brush.

“How’s your thesis coming along?” he asked Robert.

“Fine. I’m off to the Royal Society of Medicine today. I’m helping Dr. Jelliffe with his pamphlet on all the medical practitioners buried in Highgate.”

“Oh, what fun,” Martin said wistfully. Of all the things he missed about the world, researching in actual libraries ranked near the top. Robert opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind. Martin said, “Say hello to the doctor, then. And for heaven’s sake go and introduce yourself to those twins.”

Robert smiled and gave Martin an enigmatic look. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.” He left Martin’s flat and went down the stairs. On the first-floor landing he stood facing the door, staring at the little card with Elspeth’s name on it. He raised his hand to knock, then didn’t, and continued walking down the stairs and into his flat.

IT WAS A GREY, cold day. Rain was imminent. Julia and Valentina were walking up Primrose Hill. They were bundled up against the cold, and the effort of walking uphill made their cheeks pink. Julia had bought a book called Super-Mini British Slang Dictionary in an Oxfam shop. She occasionally referred to it as they walked.

“Bubble and squeak,” Julia said.

Valentina pondered. “It’s something to eat. Is it steak and kidney pie?”

“No, steak and kidney pie is steak and kidney pie.”

“Well, it’s like a stew.”

“Cabbage and potatoes chopped up and fried together,” said Julia. “Okay, here’s a good one: codswallop.”

“Nonsense.”

“Very good, A plus for our Mouse. Now you do some for me.” Julia handed Valentina the book. The twins reached the top of the hill. London spread out before them. The twins were unaware of it, but Winston Churchill had often stood on the spot they happened to be standing on, thinking over strategy during World War II. The twins were disappointed with the view. Chicago was dramatic; if you went to the top of the John Hancock Center you felt a little bit of vertigo and saw a city full of huge buildings beside a gigantic body of water. Standing on Primrose Hill, the twins saw Regent’s Park, which was drab in February, and tiny buildings in the distance all around.

“It’s bloody cold up here,” said Julia, jumping up and down and hugging herself.

Valentina frowned. “Don’t say ‘bloody.’ It’s swearing.”

“Okay. It’s jolly cold up here. It’s blooming cold. Gorblimey, it’s cold up here.” Julia began to do a sort of dance. It involved running in circles, skipping and hopping in place every now and then while throwing her body sideways. Valentina stood with her arms crossed, watching Julia carom around. Now and then Julia bumped into her. “C’mon, Mouse,” Julia said, grabbing Valentina’s mittened hands. They two-stepped around in a circle for a few minutes until Valentina was out of breath. She stood leaning over with her hands on her knees, wheezing.

“You okay?” Julia asked. Valentina shook her head and her hat fell off. Julia replaced it. After a few more minutes Valentina’s breathing returned to normal. Julia felt as though she could jog up and down the hill ten times without getting as winded as Valentina had been after a couple minutes of dancing. “You okay now?”

“Yeah.” They began to walk down the hill. The wind dropped almost instantly. Valentina felt her lungs unclench. “We should figure out how to get a doctor.”

“Yeah.” They walked in silence for a while, following the same train of thought: We promised Mom we’d find a doctor right away and not wait until Valentina has some kind of emergency. But we’ve only been here six weeks, so really this is still “right away.” Besides, there’s a hospital just down Highgate Hill, so if anything does go wrong we could go to the emergency room. But we’re still not insured, so we’d end up having to tell Mom and Dad. But how do we figure out the National Health Service? Maybe that lawyer who did Aunt Elspeth’s will could explain it.

THE FOLLOWING night it snowed. Valentina and Julia walked carefully down the icy path that led from South Grove to Vautravers. There was only half an inch of snow, but they were wearing smooth-soled leather shoes, and the path descended at an angle that made walking without traction an adventure. They were discussing whether clearing the path was their problem or their neighbours’. St. Michael’s wall threw the path into shadow. Above them the night sky was bright; the full moon and the snow had turned Highgate Village into a glittering fairyland. Julia was smoking a cigarette. Its orange tip floated a few inches from her shadowed face, bobbing along as they walked, then arcing down as Julia took it from her lips and blew the invisible smoke above her head. Valentina was annoyed; Julia would smell like smoke in bed, and her breath would reek in the morning. But she didn’t say anything. Valentina figured if she kept quiet about it, Julia wouldn’t start smoking all the time just to bug her. Just then Julia inhaled too deeply and had to stop and cough for a minute. Valentina stood staring past Julia’s hacking frame and it was then that she saw a small white thing scurrying through the ivy, straight up the church’s wall. It was about the size of a squirrel, and Valentina wondered if they had white squirrels here in London. Then she thought of the ghost, and her throat contracted. The thing darted towards the top of the wall and then seemed to hang there, as though it knew it was being watched. Julia stopped coughing and straightened up.

“Look,” Valentina whispered, pointing. The white thing heaved itself toward the top of the wall, and as it stood up silhouetted the twins saw that it was a cat, a little cat: a kitten. It stretched itself and sat down on the wall. It looked down at them, scorning their inferior position. The wall was fifteen feet high, so the kitten appeared both small and incongruous.

“Whoa,” said Julia. “Can cats do that? It’s like a monkey.”

Valentina thought about a white tiger they had seen once in a circus. It had placed its paw on the shoulder of its keeper so gently, as though it meant to dance with him. The tiger had walked on a tightrope ten feet off the ground.

“It’s the Death-Defying Kitten,” Valentina said. “Do you think it lives in the cemetery?”

“It’s the Little Kitten of Death,” said Julia. “Hi, Little Kitten of Death!” She made what were meant to be cat-calling noises, sk-sk-sk, but the kitten shrugged itself and disappeared over the wall. They could hear it thrashing through the ivy on the other side.

When they got home, Valentina put out an old chipped teacup full of milk and a saucer of tuna fish on the dining-room balcony. Julia noticed it the next morning at breakfast.

“What’s that for?”

“The Little Kitten of Death. I want it to come up to us.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “More likely you’ll just get raccoons. Or those foxes.”

“I don’t think they climb like that.”

JESSICA STOOD in front of the Eastern Cemetery’s gates on a brisk Sunday in early March, watching the visitors assembled before the main gate on the Western side. They were an unpromising lot: an American couple wearing intimidating trainers and impressive cameras; a quiet, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and binoculars; three young Japanese men in baggy denim trousers and baseball caps; a woman with a rather aerodynamic-looking pram; and a stout man with an enormous backpack, who paced back and forth with bouncy energy.

A black van sped along Swains Lane. The gilt, circus-poster-style lettering on its side said only: TEMERITY.

Indeed, thought Jessica. She checked her watch. It was quarter to three. She glanced behind her at Kate, a round, pleasant, American volunteer who was chatting with some grave owners about the renovations to the Eastern Cemetery’s wall. When Jessica returned her gaze to the group at the gate she saw that they had been joined by two girls dressed from head to toe in white. The girls stood by themselves, holding hands. They wore white hooded sweatshirts with fur trim, white miniskirts, leggings and boots. Their white knitted caps were almost the same colour as their hair. The girls had their backs to Jessica, but she knew without seeing their faces that they must be twins. How darling they are. She wondered if they realised how muddy the cemetery paths were, and whether they were younger than sixteen.

Julia and Valentina stood in front of the gates, shifting from foot to foot and shivering. Julia wondered where everyone was; all was quiet inside the gates. She could see a wide courtyard beyond the gatehouse and a colonnade which extended in a half-circle around it. She heard someone using a walkie-talkie, but there were no people in sight. Across the road was the other half of the cemetery, where Karl Marx was buried. It looked more open, more like a regular American cemetery. The guidebook said that the Western Cemetery was more interesting, but could only be visited on the tour. Anyway, it was the Western side that the twins’ windows overlooked.

Jessica crossed Swains Lane, strode through the little crowd and unlocked the massive gates. She was dressed entirely in shades of violet and mauve, and wore a hat that Valentina instantly coveted, a large-brimmed felt affair with a sweeping black feather tucked in the band. Valentina and Julia’s first impression was of royalty, a duchess, perhaps, who had come to the cemetery for the afternoon to cut a ribbon or visit a loved one and had stayed on to help out. This notion was not immediately dispelled when she spoke. “Do come in now, my dears. Has everyone read the notices? Right, please leave all luggage in the office. I’m terribly sorry, but no children under the age of eight are allowed in the Western Cemetery. Photographs may be taken for Personal Use Only. This way, please, kindly perch yourselves in front of the War Memorial on the far side of the courtyard there, we’ll be right with you.” The twins obediently sat on a bench and waited.

Robert walked out of the office with the ticket box, distracted by a crossword clue James had just read to him. He joined Jessica and they crossed the courtyard together. He saw the twins and his stomach clenched. The sensation reminded him of stage fright; then he realised it was guilt.

“Don’t charge them,” he said to Jessica.

“Why ever not?”

“They’re grave owners.”

“Surely n-oh,” she said, looking more carefully. “I see.” They continued walking. “Will you be all right, then? Shall I ask Kate to give the tour?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve got to meet them eventually.”

The twins watched them arrive. Julia elbowed Valentina. “Isn’t that the guy you met on the tube?” she whispered. Valentina nodded. She watched Robert tearing tickets, Jessica accepting £5 from each person. The twins were at the end of the row of benches. When she had taken the money from the American couple Jessica closed her money box and winked at them. Julia held out £10, but Jessica shook her head and smiled. The American woman gave them an annoyed look. Julia squeezed Valentina’s hand.

“Welcome to Highgate Cemetery,” Jessica said. “Robert will be your guide. He is one of our most Learned Guides, an historian of the Victorian Era, and is writing a book about this cemetery. All of our work is done on a voluntary basis, and every year we must raise over three hundred and fifty thousand pounds just to keep the cemetery open.” Jessica flirted with them as she spoke, and exhibited the green box. “As you leave, a volunteer will be stationed at the gate with this green box, and any help you can give will be Much Appreciated.” Robert watched the tourists fidget. Jessica wished them a Pleasant Tour and went back to the office. She felt a flutter of excitement. Why? She stood at the office window and watched Robert gather his group in front of the Colonnade steps. He stood two steps up and spoke to them, looking down, gesturing. From where they stood, the tourists could not see anything but greenery and the steps. Thosegirls look extraordinarily like Elspeth. How amazing life is. I hope he’ll be all right. He looked a bit pale.

Robert tried to clear his mind. He felt as though he were watching himself, as though he had separated into two Roberts, one of whom was calmly giving a tour, the other mute with nerves, trying to think what he might say to the twins. Bloody hell, you’d think you were seventeen. You don’t have to talk to them. They’ll talk to you. Wait.

“At the beginning of the nineteenth century,” Robert began, “London’s graveyards were shockingly overcrowded. Burial in churchyards had been the custom for hundreds of years. People were flocking to the city: there was an industrial revolution going on, and the factories needed workers. There was no space left to bury anyone, yet people died anyway. In 1800, London’s population was approximately one million. By the middle of the century it was well over two million. The churchyards couldn’t keep up with the relentless pace of death.

“The churchyards were also a health hazard. They contaminated the groundwater and caused epidemics of typhoid and cholera. Since there was no space for more graves, corpses had to be disinterred so that the newly dead could be buried. If you’ve read your Dickens, you know what I’m talking about: elbows poking out of the ground, grave robbers stealing the dead to sell them to the medical schools. It was an absolute shambles.

“In 1832, Parliament passed a bill allowing the establishment of private, commercial cemeteries. In the next nine years, seven cemeteries were opened, situated in a ring around what was then the edge of the city. These became known as the Magnificent Seven: Kensal Green, West Norwood, Highgate, Nunhead, Brompton, Abney Park and Tower Hamlets. Highgate was opened in 1839, and it quickly became the most desirable burial ground in London. Let’s go up the steps, and you’ll see why.”

The twins were at the back of the group, so all they saw was other people’s legs as they ascended. When they got to the top, Robert was standing with the group ranged in a circle around him. They saw a dense clamour of large, tilting graves, crowded and encroached on by trees and greenery. Valentina had a powerful feeling of recognition. I’ve been here before!-but not really; maybe I dreamed it? A crow flew close over their heads and swooped across the courtyard, landing on the apex of the chapels’ roof. Valentina wondered what that would be like, to fly brazenly through the cemetery; she wondered what the crow thought about the whole thing. It’s so strange, to put people in the ground and put stones on top of them. She felt a surge of wonder that people should all agree to be put in the ground together.

Robert said, “We’re standing on top of the Colonnade. If you’ll look towards the chapels, there, where you came in: there were two chapels, Anglican and Dissenters’, joined together in one building, quite unique. We are in the Western Cemetery, the original part. There are seventeen acres, and two of those are set aside for Dissenters-that is, Baptists, Presbyterians, Sandemanians, and other Protestant sects. Highgate was so popular that by 1854 they needed to expand, and so the London Cemetery Company bought the twenty acres across Swains Lane to create the Eastern Cemetery. This led to a problem. Once the service had been conducted in the Anglican chapel, how were they to get the coffin over to the Eastern side without taking it off consecrated ground? They couldn’t consecrate Swains Lane, so instead they used typical Victorian ingenuity and dug a tunnel under the road. At the end of the service, the coffin would be lowered by a pneumatic lift down into the tunnel. The pallbearers would meet it and take it across, where it would ascend on the Eastern side in a touching allusion to the Resurrection.”

Julia thought, He looks really pleased with himself, like he invented the whole thing. She felt kind of crabby, cold and damp. She glanced at Valentina, who was staring at the guide with rapt attention. Robert ran his eyes over the group. Most of them had their cameras ready, itching to take photos, to move on. He saw Valentina staring at him and turned to the grave they were standing next to.

DAYS WENT BY and nothing much happened. Julia and Valentina tried to civilise the Kitten, cajoling her with food and little balls of aluminium foil, sitting in the dining room chatting to her while she regarded them sceptically from underneath a chair. Elspeth played with her when the twins were out or asleep, glad to have someone to engage with, even if that someone was an angry white kitten. Gradually the Kitten became less outraged and was allowed into other parts of the flat. She occasionally let herself be petted. To Elspeth’s dismay she shredded the spine of a Hogarth Press To the Lighthouse and the back of the sofa. Valentina was delighted with the Kitten’s progress and looked forward to what she described to Julia as “total kitten happiness” in the near future.

The twins saw nothing of Robert, though they sometimes heard him showering or watching TV. He was hunkered down in his flat, slogging through a chapter about Highgate Cemetery as nature reserve. Every afternoon he went to the cemetery and took notes while Jessica and Molly tried to teach him about the flora and fauna. They chivvied him into going on nature walks and pointed out demure wild-flowers that wouldn’t bloom for months, taught him their Latin names, tut-tutted over invasive species, reminisced about long-ago cemetery landscaping triumphs and exclaimed over rare spiders. Robert wallowed in his own ignorance and tried to keep up with the two of them as they briskly dragged him into distant recesses of the cemetery. Molly and Jessica beamed at him whenever he managed to ask an intelligent question. It kept his mind off the twins, and he slept better for being thoroughly exhausted.

Julia visited Martin, but he politely asked her to come back in a few days, as he was behind with his work. The moment she left he went back to cleaning the bathroom floor tile with straight bleach and a toothbrush. Marijke’s birthday was coming up and Martin was worrying over whether he would be able to call her, and how he might send her a present. These problems had absorbed him for days, but he didn’t find himself any nearer to solving them. More cleaning might do the trick.

Elspeth had relented in her haunting of the twins, at least for the time being, and steered clear of them. There was no point in forcing them to acknowledge her existence if they disliked her, and they had made it obvious that they were sceptical (Julia) or hostile (Valentina). Elspeth kept to herself, practised her peculiar pursuits and waited. So Valentina found herself suddenly free. Robert had ceased to shadow the twins, and Valentina no longer had the feeling of being watched on the street; she began to relax and enjoy their outings again.

The twins very seldom bought anything when they went shopping. They had a flat full of Elspeth’s belongings, which they treated as though it were a combination archaeological dig/magic hat; whatever they required seemed already to be somewhere at hand. They made their life out of Elspeth’s, as if they were hunter-gatherers living on top of ruined Troy.

Today they were in Harvey Nichols. The shop girls had them pegged as noncustomers, so service was slow, but the twins strutted about in Prada and Stella McCartney all afternoon with perfect contentment. In the dressing room Valentina turned things inside out, meditated on garment construction and fabrics. Julia watched her, happy in Valentina’s happiness. A plan (not even a plan; a need, really) had been forming in Valentina’s mind for some time, and later when they sat upstairs in the café drinking tea she said to Julia, “I want to go to Central Saint Martins College and take some classes.”

“Classes? Why?”

“I want to be a fashion designer.” Valentina tried to smile confidently, as though she were presenting Julia with a delightful gift. “Alexander McQueen went there.”

“Um. What am I supposed to do while you’re doing that?”

“I don’t know.” Valentina paused. She thought, I don’t care. Do whatever you want. She wasn’t sure whether she needed Julia’s consent to take money out of their account. She would ask Mr. Roche. Valentina didn’t want to argue about it, so she said, “You could be my manager?”

Julia pouted. “That sounds kind of boring.”

“Well, don’t, then.”

They sat in silence, staring off in opposite directions. The café had high ceilings, numerous small tables full of mums and prams, a safe ordinary clatter of silverware and dishes, laughing female conversation all around them. Valentina felt as though she had finally thrown down the gauntlet; she imagined a heavily fortified glove lying between them among the tea things. I always back down, but not this time. She said, “We have to work someday. And you promised we’d go back to school when we got here.” Julia glared at her but didn’t reply.

The waiter brought the bill. Julia paid. Valentina said, “Let’s look up the University of the Arts on the Web when we get home. Maybe there’s something you would like.”

Julia shrugged. They walked through the shop without speaking and out onto Knightsbridge. Valentina thought the tube ought to be just to the left, but Julia turned right and began walking very quickly. They passed Hyde Park Corner tube station. Valentina said, “There’s the tube,” but Julia ignored her. They crossed into Mayfair and began to zigzag, making random turns, Julia leading, Valentina trotting after her. Valentina knew they would continue walking until Julia decided to speak to her again; meanwhile they would get thoroughly lost.

It was rush hour and the streets were crowded. The evening was clear and cold. Valentina saw familiar shops, squares, street names, but she had no internal map of London, no way to organise her surroundings; that was Julia’s job. Valentina had not bothered to pay attention. Valentina began to be frightened. She wondered if she should just walk off and find a tube station; they were in central London; there ought to be stations all around. I should leave her and go home. Valentina had never tried that, abandoning Julia in the middle of a fight. She experienced a qualm at the thought of taking the tube by herself-she hadn’t done it without Julia. Then she saw the familiar red, white and blue sign: OXFORD CIRCUS.

The twins crossed Regent Street and were immediately caught in a crush of people trying to enter the tube station. There were currents within the crowd, and for a few minutes they found themselves walking against the stream. Julia was struck by how calm everyone was, as though they all did this every day at 6:30 p.m.; perhaps they did. Valentina was behind her, and Julia could hear her breathing hard. She reached her hand back and Valentina took it. “It’s okay, Mouse,” she said. They found the current of people moving in the direction they wanted to go. Now they were not pushed and jostled so much.

Valentina felt as though she were drowning. She could not draw a breath; she was pressed by people on all sides. All thought of going into the tube station vanished. She wanted only to get out of the crowd. Elbows and backpacks jabbed her. She heard the buses and cars going by a few feet away. People muttered their annoyance to themselves and each other, but to Valentina all the noise seemed muted.

VALENTINA AND JULIA were puzzled by an empty shelf in Elspeth’s office. Since the office was jam-crammed with every conceivable kind of book, knickknack, writing implement and other things useful and useless, space was in short supply-therefore the existence of a pristine, thoroughly empty shelf was a conundrum. It must have held something once. But what? And who had removed it? The shelf was twelve inches deep and eighteen inches wide. It was the third shelf from the bottom in the bookcase next to Elspeth’s desk. Unlike the rest of the office, it had been somewhat recently dusted. There was also a locked drawer in the desk, for which they could find no key.

The former contents of the shelf were now sitting in Robert’s flat, along with all the other things he’d removed from Elspeth’s, in boxes on the floor next to his bed. He had not touched anything in the boxes except Elspeth’s jumper and shoes, which he had placed in their own drawer in his desk. Now and then he would open the drawer and pet them, then close it and go back to his work.

He had placed the boxes on the side of his bed away from the door, so it was possible for him not to look at them for days. He considered putting the boxes in the spare bedroom, but that seemed unfriendly. Eventually he would have to explore the contents. Before Elspeth died he had thought he wanted to read her diaries. He thought he wanted to know everything, be privy to all her secrets. Yet for quite a long time he put off touching the diaries or bringing them into his flat. Now they were here, and still he did not open them. He had his memories, and he did not want them altered or disproved. As a historian he knew that any trove of documents has incendiary potential. So the boxes sat like unexploded ordnance on the floor of his bedroom and Robert did his best to ignore them.

IT WAS 12 MARCH, a grey, lowering Saturday; Marijke’s fifty-fourth birthday. Martin woke up at six and lay in bed, his mind flitting from happy anticipation (she would expect him to call and must surely answer the phone) to anxious consideration of his birthday tribute to her (a dauntingly complex cryptic crossword in which the first and last letters of each clue made multiple anagrams of her full name and the solution was an anagram of a line from John Donne’s “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning”). He had given the crossword and her present to Robert, who had promised to send it express. Martin had decided to wait until two to call. It would be three o’clock in Amsterdam; she would have had her lunch and would be in a relaxed, Saturday-afternoon mood. He got out of bed and began to make his way through his morning routine, feeling like an only child waiting for his parents to wake on Christmas morning.

Marijke woke up confused, late in the morning, in weak sunlight that came through the shutters and onto her pillow. It’s my birthday. Lang zal ze leven, hieperderpiep, hoera. She had no plan for the day, beyond coffee and cake with some friends that evening. She knew Martin would call, and hoped that Theo would-sometimes Theo forgot; he seemed to deliberately cultivate a protective layer of obliviousness. She always called Theo to remind him of Martin’s birthday; perhaps Martin did the same for her? She had dreamed about Martin, a very aangename dream of their old gezellig flat in St. John’s Wood. She had been washing dishes and he had come up behind her and kissed the nape of her neck. Memory or dream? She imagined his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing her neck. Mmm. Marijke had been policing her erotic imagination since she’d left Martin. Usually she was quick to boot him out of her mind when he tried to sneak in, but this morning, for a birthday treat, she let the dream-memory unfurl.

The package arrived around noon. Marijke put it on her kitchen table and spent some minutes hunting for a Stanley knife as the package was almost completely covered with tape and beseechments to HANDLE WITH CARE. It looks like it’s from an insane person. But he’s my insane person, my very own. She ferreted through the plastic packing and pulled out a fat envelope and a pink box. The pink box contained a pair of cerulean-blue leather gloves. Marijke slipped them on. They fitted perfectly; they were soft as breath. She ran her gloved fingers over the invisible hairs on her arm. The gloves disguised her knobbly knuckles and age spots. She felt as though she’d been given new hands.

The envelope contained a letter and a crossword, with the solution in another, smaller envelope. Marijke opened the smaller envelope straightaway; she had no talent for crosswords, and Martin knew this. She could never have begun to solve the masterpieces he made for her each year, and they both understood these birthday crosswords for what they were: a demonstration of devotion, the equivalent of the intricate, eye-popping jumpers Marijke knitted for Martin on his birthdays. Inside the envelope were two stanzas of the Donne poem:

Marijke smiled. She opened the letter and a tiny package fell into her blue-gloved hand. She had to take the gloves off to open it. At first she thought it was empty-she shook the package and nothing came out. She probed with a finger, and found two bits of metal and pearl clinging inside. They spilled onto her palm. Oh, oh! My earrings. Marijke carried them to the window. She imagined Martin hunting among the boxes for days, excavating layers of plastic-embalmed possessions, just to find her earrings. Lieve Martin. She closed her hand around the earrings, closed her eyes and let herself miss him. All this distance…

She raised her head, looked at her one-room flat. It had been the hayloft of a livery stable in the seventeenth century. It had pitched ceilings, heavy beams, whitewashed walls. Her futon occupied one corner, her clothes hung in another corner behind a curtain. She had a table with two chairs, a tiny kitchen, a window that overlooked the little crooked street, a vase of freesias on the windowsill. She had a comfortable chair and a lamp. For more than a year now this room had been her haven, fortress, retreat, her triumphant, undiscoverable gambit in her marital game of hide-and-seek. Standing there, clasping the earrings in her hand, Marijke saw her snug room as a lonely place. Apartment. A place to be apart. She shook her head to change her thoughts and opened Martin’s letter.

Lieve Marijke,

Happy Birthday, Mistress of my heart. I wish I could see youtoday; I wish I could embrace you. But since that isn’t possible, I send you surrogate hands to slip over your own hands, to lurk in your pockets as you walk through your city, to warm you, to remind you of blue skies (it’s grey here too).

Your loving husband,

Martin

THE NEXT day was strangely mild, the kind of day that induces people to say, “Global warming,” and smile ruefully. Robert woke up early to the sound of church bells and thought, Today is the perfect day to picnic in Postman’s Park.

He gathered his courage, went upstairs and invited the twins. By noon he had assembled sandwiches, bottled water, apples and a bottle of Pinot Blanc into an ancient picnic basket borrowed from Jessica and James. He decided they should take the bus, partially to accommodate Valentina’s tube phobia and partly because he thought the twins ought to get to know the bus system. By the time they arrived at the unassuming gates of the park all three of them were hungry, and the twins were quite lost.

Robert carried the picnic basket into the park and set it on a bench. “Voilà,” he said. “Postman’s Park.” He had not told them what to expect; they had imagined something like St. James’s or Regent’s Park, and so they stood and looked about, perplexed. The park occupied a narrow space between a church and some nondescript buildings. It was neat, shady and devoid of people. There was a diminutive fountain, eight wooden benches, a scattering of trees and ferns, a low, shed-like structure at one end and some old tablet-style gravestones leaning against the buildings.

“It’s a cemetery?” asked Julia.

“It was an old churchyard, yes.”

Valentina looked quizzical but said nothing. The park was sort of drab and she couldn’t see why Robert had been so intent on bringing them here.

“Why is it called Postman’s Park? I don’t see any postmen. Or postpersons,” said Julia.

“The old Post Office was nearby. The postmen used to eat their lunch here.”

Valentina wandered over to a sign on the church wall. GUILD AND WARD CHURCH OF ST BOTOLPH-WITHOUT-ALDERSGATE. She looked at Robert, who smiled and shrugged. She took a few steps towards the shed at the back of the park.

“Warmer,” he said. Julia was there and Valentina hurried to join her. The shed building was covered in beautiful white tiles, which were lettered with blue inscriptions:

Elizabeth Boxall, aged 17 of Bethnal Green who died of injuries received in trying to Save a Child from a runaway horse, June 20, 1888.

Frederick Alfred Croft, Inspector. Aged 31 Saved a Lunatic Woman from suicide at Woolwich Arsenal Station. But was Himself run over by the Train. Jan. 11. 1878

The twins wandered back and forth, reading the plaques. There seemed to be hundreds of them.

David Selves, aged 12 off Woolwich supported his drowning play-fellow and sank with him clasped in his arms September 12, 1886

“You’re kind of sick, you know that?” Julia told Robert. He looked slightly hurt.

MARTIN DREAMED he was on the underground. It was a Circle-line train, the sort of carriage where all the seats face the aisle. At first he was the only passenger, but soon people began to get on, and he found himself staring at his knees to avoid looking at the crotch of the man crowded against him. He wasn’t sure what station he was supposed to get off at; since it was the Circle line they would all come round again and again, so he stayed where he was, trying to remember where he was going.

Martin heard peculiar noises coming from the seats directly across from him-crunching, ripping, chewing sounds, which increased in volume as the train went on. Martin began to be anxious-the sounds worked on his nerves like grinding teeth. Something rolled up against his foot. He looked down. It was a walnut.

The train stopped at Monument and quite a few people got off. Now he could see across the aisle. Two young women sat together. They wore scuffed white trainers and medical scrubs, and each had a shopping bag resting on her lap. Both women had protruding eyes and pronounced overbites. They wore wary expressions, as though prepared to defend their bags against thieves. Both women delved into the bags with shovel-like hands, scooping out walnuts and ripping them open with their huge teeth.

“Wotchalookin’ at?” said one to Martin. He could hear walnuts rolling all over the floor. No one else seemed to notice. Martin shook his head, unable to speak. To his horror, the women got up and seated themselves on either side of him. The one who had spoken before leaned over and put her mouth to his ear.

“We’re squirrels in human form,” she whispered. “And so are you.”

WE’VE GOT to get you to a doctor,” said Julia. Valentina nodded and wheezed.

But this was easier said than done. The twins were blissfully unaware of the intricacies of the NHS. Robert tried not to sound exasperated as he filled them in.

“You can’t just show up and expect them to attend to your problem,” he told Valentina when the twins accosted him outside his door. He stood holding a sheaf of letters and waved them about for emphasis as he talked. “You have to find out which GPs are accepting new patients and ring them to make an appointment to register. And then you fill out a pile of forms and give them your history. And then, and only then, are you allowed to make an appointment.” Valentina started to say something and coughed instead.

Julia shook her finger at Robert as though he had personally invented the National Health Service. “No way,” she said. “The Mouse needs a doctor right now.”

“Go over to Whittington Hospital, then, to A & E.” And that was what they ended up doing. Robert came with them.

Whittington Hospital was a sprawling thing located just down Highgate Hill, on the other side of Waterlow Park. They walked there. The spring wind was damp and stiff, and by the time they arrived Valentina was breathing in deep, stomach-clenching gasps.

After some questions and some waiting, Valentina was whisked away by a young Pakistani nurse. Julia and Robert could hear the nurse making low-pitched sounds of reassurance as she hustled Valentina through the double doors that separated the waiting room from the A & E department proper. They settled down to do the forms with the middle-aged, basset-jowled white man who sat at the intake desk.

“Allergies?”

“Tetracycline, mould, soy,” said Julia.

“Existing conditions?”

“Well,” said Julia, “she has situs inversus.” The intake man, who had seemed utterly bored with them, now looked up at Julia and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “We are mirror twins, and she’s mostly reversed inside. Her heart’s over here,” Julia laid her hand on her chest, just to the right of her sternum, “and her liver and kidneys and whatnot are all backwards of mine.” The man considered this, and then began typing rapidly.

“I didn’t know that,” said Robert.

“Well, now you do,” said Julia irritably. “It’s not like it matters or anything, unless you’re Valentina’s doctor.”

“I meant the bit about you being mirror-image twins. I thought you were identical twins. That is, wouldn’t mirror twins be more…opposite?”

Julia shrugged. “We’re pretty symmetrical, so it doesn’t show that much in our faces. You can notice it better if you look at the way our hair parts, or our moles, or if you saw a pair of X-rays, then you could really see it, because she’s so opposite. She has an asymmetric non-flail mitral-valve prolapse,” she added, to the intake man.

“What does that mean?” asked Robert.

“There’s a valve that isn’t formed right,” replied Julia. “That’s why I’m so worried about her breathing like that. It might put a strain on her heart, and then we’d be in big trouble.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been in London for almost three months without getting her a doctor!” Robert was feeling extremely anxious, suddenly, and he spoke sharply.

She retorted, “We were going to do it and we’ve just been putting it off ’cause we weren’t sure how to find one. It’s not like we haven’t been thinking about it.” Julia knew that this was an inadequate reason, and it made her cross. She finished the paperwork and they went back to their seats in the waiting room.

The diagnosis was bronchitis. They took a cab up the hill, Valentina huddling in Julia’s arms, coughing. In the front hall, back at Vautravers, the twins began to walk upstairs, and Robert tried to follow them. “No,” said Julia. “We’re all right. Thanks.” She turned away brusquely.

Robert said, “But she needs-”

“I take care of her. That’s my job.” Julia watched Valentina slowly ascending the stairs, pausing on each step.

“I could get the prescription,” Robert offered.

Julia considered. It would be helpful; Boots was a bus ride away. “Okay. Here.” She handed over the prescription as though she were doing Robert a favour, not the reverse. He went out the front door, a man on a mission. I take care of her. Not you, Julia thought. She followed Valentina into their flat. She filled the hot-water bottle before she took off her coat, and went to the bedroom, where Valentina was slowly undressing.

“Where’s Robert?” Valentina asked, as though she hadn’t heard their conversation.

“He went to Boots,” Julia said.

Valentina got into bed without comment. Julia gave her the hot-water bottle, set up the vapourizer, fetched the book Valentina had been reading, made tea; she did all these things purposefully and quite happily, humming to herself as she accomplished all the little comforting tasks. She came into the bedroom with the tea to find the Kitten curled up near Valentina’s head and Valentina herself asleep. The Kitten stretched out a paw and placed it protectively on Valentina’s shoulder, eyeing Julia with suspicion. You too? Julia thought. We all want to be her only one. She set the tea tray on the bedside table. It occurred to Julia to wonder, If I got sick, would everyone rush to my bedside? The thought made her irritable. She never got sick, what was the point of wondering that? Valentina’s breath rattled in her throat. Julia settled herself in the window seat with her own cup of tea, causing Elspeth, who had been there all along, to get up and stand next to the bed, biting her thumb, worrying. It was an anxious day for everyone: humans, cats, and ghosts.

Edie sat at her dining-room table drinking coffee with the telephone at her elbow; she was not actually looking at the phone, just having it near because it was going to ring in a few minutes. Jack wandered over, carrying the Sunday Times. He began to separate it into his and hers piles. Edie put her hand out and he placed the business section in it. She flipped it open and ran her finger down the stock tables, making little tsking sounds as she did so. The phone rang. Edie took a sip of her coffee as though she were in no hurry and let it ring three times. Jack went down the hall to pick up in their bedroom.

“Mom?”

“Hi, Julia,” said Edie.

“Valentina?” said Jack.

“Hi, Dad,” said Valentina. She tried to make her voice sound normal but the effort sent her into a coughing fit.

“Oh my God,” said Edie. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s just bronchitis,” said Julia. “We went to the doctor.”

“I’m better today,” Valentina said. She put her phone down and went into the bathroom to cough. Julia watched her standing bent over, elbows on the sink, hand over her mouth to suppress the sound of the coughing.

YOU LOOK terrible,” Julia said to Martin a few days later. “I’m going to buy you some vitamins.”

“Now you sound like Marijke.”

“Is that good or bad?” They were in Martin’s office. It was late afternoon; Valentina was at the cemetery with Robert, so Julia had come upstairs like a stray creature, complaining loudly that she had been deserted and hoping that Martin would watch TV with her. But Martin was working, so she hovered around him, bored but expectant.

Martin smiled and swivelled to look at her. In the dim light of the computer screen he seemed otherworldly; Julia thought him beautiful, though she knew it was the beauty of damage. His face was bluish and his hands were an extraordinary blood-orange colour in the warm desk-lamp light. “It’s nice. It’s good to have someone worry about me, just a bit. I wouldn’t want you to worry too much, though.”

An idea was forming in Julia’s mind. “I won’t. But would you take vitamins if I got you some?”

Martin turned back to the screen. He was building the grid for a crossword. He clicked and three squares went black. “Maybe. I’m not very good at remembering to take pills.”

“I could remind you. It could be my job.”

ROBERT’S BIRTHDAY dawned clear and balmy. He had gone to sleep at a reasonable hour the night before, so he bounded out of bed feeling oddly joyous and expectant. “Dadadadadada-blahblahblahblah BIRTHDAY…” He sang in the shower and ate a soft-boiled egg and toast. He spent a luxurious morning rewriting the chapter of his thesis devoted to Stephen Geary, Highgate Cemetery’s architect. He presented himself at the cemetery before noon and pottered in the archives with James until it was time to give the two o’clock tour. All the familiar memorials seemed to salute him: Eventually you’ll be dead, too, but not today. When he returned from the tour he found the ground-floor office empty except for Nigel, the cemetery’s manager, and a young couple who were discussing the funeral arrangements for their baby. Robert hastily withdrew and went upstairs.

Valentina was perched on one of the office chairs, effacing herself. Jessica was on the phone; Felicity was making tea and talking softly to George, the stone carver, about a memorial he was designing; James called down to Jessica from the archives; Edward was photocopying and Phil was unboxing a cake. Thomas and Matthew came in, rather shyly, and the office seemed suddenly overfull as the burial team seldom came indoors and both of them were very tall.

“Look,” said Phil. “I had them do the Egyptian Avenue in icing.”

“Wow,” said Robert. “That’s really-unappetising.”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “Grey icing is not enticing.”

Felicity laughed when she saw the cake. Then everyone shushed, remembering the bereaved parents in Nigel’s office below. “That’s brilliant,” she said in a whisper. She started placing little pink candles on the cake. Jessica put the phone down and said, “Behave yourselves,” to no one in particular. She winked at Valentina and went downstairs.

The only people Valentina had met before besides Robert were Jessica and Felicity. When Robert came in he’d smiled at her and Valentina felt a jolt of confidence. She watched with surprise as Robert bantered with Phil and parried jokes about his advancing mortality with Thomas and Matthew. It’s like being a zoologist, watching the rare animal in its natural habitat. Robert didn’t seem at all shy here. He summoned Valentina from her chair in the corner and began to introduce her around, one hand touching her back lightly. Valentina was excited to be seen by Robert’s friends as part of a couple, even as she was conscious of how much this would have irritated her if it was Julia claiming her instead of Robert.

James came down from the archives and gingerly settled at Jessica’s desk. Jessica walked into the office followed by Nigel. “Oh-” he said. “What’s the occasion, then?”

“We’re having a twentieth of April party, Nigel,” Felicity said. “Didn’t you bring your costume?”

“It’s Robert’s birthday,” James told him.

“Of course it is,” said Nigel regretfully. “I’m afraid my mind’s somewhere else.”

“Is it all arranged?” James asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “The funeral is on Monday at eleven.” A pall came over the office; no one liked babies’ funerals. Robert thought, Italways rains when we bury the babies. Then he thought that couldn’t be true really. But I’ll bring an umbrella just in case.

“Oh dear,” Nigel said, noticing the cake. “What happened there?”

“Hey, now,” said Phil, “don’t disrespect the cake.” He took a picture of it with his phone-“for the archives.”

Felicity lit the candles. Everyone clustered round Robert who stood looking self-consciously pleased as they sang “Happy Birthday” to him. Valentina sang and felt as though she’d known all these people for years: Phil with his leather trench coat and tattoos; George with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his baritone voice, a pencil sketch of a gravestone loosely held in his graphite-smudged hands; Edward who reminded Valentina of a leading man in an old black-and-white movie, dignified in his suit and tie, singing with his hands clasped in front of him, as though he were in church; Thomas and Matthew in their high boots and braces smiling as they sang; Nigel sad-faced as though the singing was a very solemn task which might have unpleasant consequences; Felicity kind and clear-voiced; Jessica and James singing breathily like overblown flutes-all singing together, Happy birthday, happy birthday to you. At the end of the song Robert closed his eyes and wished just to be happy again and blew out all the candles but one. There was a murmur of not-quite-concern in the group, then he took another breath and finished off the last candle. Applause, laughter. Robert cut the cake and gave Valentina the first piece. She held the paper plate in one hand and the plastic fork in the other, and watched him hand out slices. Felicity poured tea into the cemetery’s motley collection of mugs and china cups. Robert ate a bite of cake; the grey icing tasted just like any other colour. He glanced at Valentina and found her staring at him, solemn and silent in the midst of the conviviality. Suddenly Valentina smiled and he felt lighthearted: the past seemed to dissipate and it was all about the future now. Robert walked over to Valentina and they stood side by side, eating cake, happily quiet together amid the humming birthday party. It’s going to be all right, he thought.

ELSPETH WAS working with dust. She couldn’t think why she had not understood before the communicative powers of dust. It was light and she could move it easily; it was the ideal medium for messages.

When the twins first arrived in the flat, Julia had idly run her finger across the dust on the piano, leaving a shiny trail. It had been bothering Elspeth, and she had begun to laboriously put the dust back, to erase Julia’s thoughtless defacement, when she realised that she had stumbled across what amounted to a tabula rasa. Dust was a megaphone that could amplify her distress call. She was so excited that she immediately went to her drawer to think over the possibilities.

What to say, now that she finally had the chance? “Help, I’m dead.” No, they can’t do anything about that. It’s better not to seem too pathetic. But I don’t want to frighten them. I want them to know it’s me, not a trick. She thought of Robert. She could write to him; he would know she was here.

The next morning was Sunday. It was raining and the front room was suffused with an even, feeble light. Elspeth floated above the piano. If she had been visible to anyone, she would have appeared as only a face and a right hand.

The twins were in the dining room, lingering over coffee and the remains of toast and jam. Elspeth could hear their amiable, desultory conversation, the midmorning debate over what manner of amusements to pursue today. She shut them out and concentrated on the dull dusty expanse before her.

Elspeth placed a tentative fingertip on the piano. She recalled reading somewhere that household dust was largely comprised of shed human skin cells. So perhaps I’m writing with bits of my former body. The dust gave way, soft particles yielding as she traced a shiny path. She exulted in the ease of it; she took care with her writing, so that Robert must know it as hers. She spent almost an hour writing a few lines. The twins had gone out by the time she was finished. Elspeth hummed and hovered over her work, admiring the flourish of her signature, the exactness of her punctuation. With great effort she switched on the floor lamp she had once used to illuminate sheet music. They can’t miss that, she crowed, and took a celebratory flight around the flat, shooting through doors and skimming ceilings. She managed to drop a lump of sugar on the Kitten’s head as it slept on a chair partially tucked under the dining-room table. What a glorious morning!

Robert spent the day, which happened to be May Day, at the entrance to the Eastern Cemetery pointing a great many people, most of them Chinese, towards Karl Marx’s grave. That evening he sat at his desk, exhausted. He stared at his computer and tried to work out what it was exactly that irritated him so about Chapter III. There was something wrong with the tone of the thing: it was a rollicking, almost jolly chapter about cholera and typhoid. It wouldn’t do. He couldn’t fathom why epidemics had once seemed so delightful.

He was highlighting all the essential bits in red when he heard someone banging on his door.

IT WAS very early morning and Valentina woke before Julia, as she often did. She gently disengaged herself from Julia’s arms and sat up in bed. The curtains were not quite closed; the light was pale and diffused. Something moved. Valentina wasn’t properly awake and she saw it without really seeing. She thought it was the Kitten, but the Kitten was sleeping beside her on the bed. Valentina looked harder, and as she did the thing unfolded itself from where it had been sitting by the window and Valentina realised that she was seeing Elspeth.

It was like seeing from a long distance; Elspeth was faint and not sharply defined. She looks just like Mom, Valentina thought, but there was something about the way the ghost looked back at her that was unfamiliar and alien. Elspeth moved her mouth as though she were speaking and began to walk towards the bed. Until that moment Valentina had not been afraid but suddenly she was. The fear woke her up completely: Elspeth vanished. Valentina felt a cold touch on her cheek, then nothing. She slid off the bed and ran out of the flat, down the front stairs, then stood panting next to the mail baskets in her pyjamas.

Robert had only been asleep for an hour or so, and it took him some time to become aware of the knocking at his door. His first thought was that the house must be on fire. He came to the door in his underwear and poked his head out, squinting.

Valentina said, “Can I come in?”

“Ah. Minute.” He walked to his bedroom and put on trousers and yesterday’s shirt, then went back to the door and opened it wide. He said, “Good morning,” and then, observing her more carefully, “What’s wrong?”

“I saw Elspeth,” she replied, and began to cry.

Robert put his arms around Valentina and said, “Hush,” to the top of her head. After she had recovered somewhat, he said, “I’ve been trying to see her for weeks. How did she look?”

“Like Mom.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’ve never seen a ghost before. I mean, you know, she’s dead.”

“Yes. I know.” He led her into the kitchen. She sat at the table, and he began to make tea. Valentina blew her nose on a paper towel. Robert said, “Did you have the impression that she was trying to appear to you? Or what happened, exactly?”

Valentina shook her head. “I think when I first saw her she was sitting in the window seat looking out. It wasn’t like she was especially trying to make me see her. When she noticed I was looking at her she came over to me and then I got scared and she disappeared.” Valentina paused. “Actually, what I think it was, I don’t think I was totally awake.”

“Oh,” Robert said. “So you dreamed her?”

“No-I don’t think so. But maybe it’s like-you know how when you try to remember something, and you can’t think of it, and then later when you’re not trying to think about it any more it just pops into your head?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe I saw her because I forgot I couldn’t see her.”

Robert laughed. “I’ll have to try that. Of course, she’s not speaking to me lately, so I don’t imagine she’ll appear. How did she seem? Was she angry with you?”

“Angry? No, she was trying to tell me something, but it wasn’t like she was mad or anything.”

The kettle boiled and Robert poured water into the teapot. He said, “Don’t you and Julia talk to her?”

“Sometimes. But she doesn’t want to answer the questions we want to ask.”

Robert smiled and put the tea things on the table. “Perhaps if you let Elspeth do the asking you’ll eventually find out whatever it is you want to know.” He sat down across from Valentina.

“Maybe. I wish you’d just tell us.”

“Tell you what?”

“Whatever it is-we’re not exactly sure, but there’s some big secret about Elspeth and Mom. I mean, they were twins, and then they never spoke to each other again. What was that about?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Valentina said irritably.

“Couldn’t. I have no idea why Elspeth and Edie parted ways. It happened long before I met Elspeth, and she hardly ever mentioned your mother.” He poured out the tea.

Valentina watched steam rise from her mug.

Robert said, “Why do you need to know? Your mother doesn’t want to tell you, and Elspeth took great care not to leave anything behind that might cause anxiety. Of course, that’s assuming that there actually is a secret.”

“Mom is afraid we’ll find out.”

“Isn’t that a good reason to leave it be?” He said this more vehemently than he meant to; Valentina looked startled. “Listen,” Robert said more quietly, “sometimes when you finally find out, you realise that you were much better off not knowing.”

Valentina frowned. “How would you know? And besides, you’re a historian. You spend all your time finding out stuff about other people.”

MARTIN HAD a toothache. It had been coming on for days. Now it had arrived in his mouth, like a train, and he was unable to think of anything else. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to see the painful tooth by leaning his head back, opening his mouth, and straining his eyes downward, but this merely caused him to fall over backwards and crack his shin on the bathtub. He gave up and took some codeine that Marijke had left over from her slipped disk. Then he went back to bed.

Later in the morning his phone rang. Since the phone was in bed with him, quite near his head, Martin felt as though it were his tooth that was ringing; the pain was excruciating. It was Marijke.

“Hallo, sailor, what of the sea?” She sounded quite cheerful.

“Still salty,” he said. “How are you?” He sat up and fumbled for his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” Marijke said. “You sound asleep.”

“Oh…I’ve got toothache.” He felt a little ashamed of himself; he wanted her to feel sorry for him.

“Oh, no.” Marijke was sitting in her flat, having a leisurely Saturday morning in her comfortable chair with a detective novel on her lap and a bowl of crisps to hand. She had decided to call Martin in a mood of magnanimity. Now his toothache groped through the phone and demanded that she attend to it. “Have you done anything for it? Which tooth?”

“One of the upper molars. On the right side. It feels like someone’s kicking my face.”

Neither of them said anything, because there was no obvious remedy. Even if Martin could have gone to the dentist, he had no dentist to go to: Dr. Prescott had left the NHS to practise privately; in the process he had dropped Martin from his patient list. Anyway, it didn’t matter, because Dr. Prescott didn’t do home visits. Finally Marijke said, “Maybe you should call Robert?”

“Why?”

“Maybe he could-no, never mind.”

Martin pressed his hand against his cheek. The tooth was throbbing more relentlessly. “He’s a clever chap, but I don’t think he knows much about dentistry.” Martin climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. Something was different-but he couldn’t think what it was, not with his tooth pulsing whilst he was talking to Marijke and trying to find the bottle of codeine capsules-Ah, there. He swallowed two and wandered back to bed. As he got into bed he realised that he had just walked on the floor in his bare feet without giving it a thought. Hmm. The anxiety wasn’t there; no compulsion urged itself upon him. He turned his attention back to Marijke.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked him.

“Sleep?”

“Shall I call Robert, then?”

“All right-tell him to come up with a pair of pliers.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

Later Martin was sitting at his kitchen table in a codeine fog, trying to eat lukewarm porridge. He heard Robert stumbling through the dark flat, calling his name. “Here. The kitchen,” Martin said, with effort.

“Hey,” Robert said softly when he arrived in the kitchen. “Marijke says you’ve fallen afoul of the tooth fairy.”

“Mmm,” Martin said.

“Listen-if I found a dentist-could you leave the flat?”

Martin shook his head very slowly.

“You’re quite sure?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Never mind. I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be back soon, I hope.”

Time passed and Robert did not reappear. Martin put his head on the table and dozed. When he woke again Julia was sitting at the table reading yesterday’s Telegraph. She had washed the dishes.

“Robert sent me,” she told him.

“Time is it?” Martin asked.

“Four-ish,” said Julia. “Can I do anything? Tea?”

“Yes, please,” said Martin. Julia had brought the bag of frozen peas. Martin gratefully held it against his face. She got up and began to make tea.

Julia said, “Robert’s here.” Martin sat up and ran his hands over his hair so that it stood straight up and made him look surprised.

“Martin,” Robert said, “I’ve brought Sebastian.”

Robert’s friend Sebastian Morrow, the funeral director, stood in the kitchen doorway. Martin had always found Sebastian to be rather aloof; now he looked uncertain and reluctant, though resplendent in a beautiful deep-blue suit; his shoes gleamed and he held an ominous leather satchel.

“But I need a dentist,” said Martin, “not an undertaker. Yet.”

Robert said, “Before he became an undertaker Sebastian did the undergraduate course in dentistry at Barts.”

Julia rose from her seat and stood near the back door with her arms folded across her chest. Only Robert would bring an undertaker to pull a tooth.

Martin said, “Why didn’t you carry on with dentistry?”

Sebastian said, “Dead people don’t bite.” He lifted the satchel and asked, “May I?”

“Please,” said Martin.

Robert spread a clean towel on the table, and Sebastian laid out his instruments: a syringe for the novocaine, a bottle of alcohol, wads of cotton and gauze. Robert took a cup and a bowl from the cupboard, and Sebastian put on an immaculate white coverall. He washed his hands and pulled on latex gloves.

As long as he’d been waiting for Robert to come, Martin had devoutly wished for an end to his agony. But now, watching Sebastian prepare, Martin began to feel unendurably anxious. “Wait!” he said, grasping Sebastian’s wrist. “I have to-do something first.”

“Martin,” said Robert, “we can’t wait hours for you to-”

“Here, Martin,” said Julia, suddenly at his side, “I’ll do it for you, okay? You stay here and just tell me what to do, yeah?” She leaned over and put her ear next to Martin’s mouth, expectantly.

Martin hesitated. Is it all right if she does it instead of me? He tried to consult the inner feeling that arbitrated these things. It was mute. At last he whispered to Julia, and she nodded. “Out loud?” Julia asked.

“No, but stand where I can see you.”

Sebastian said, “Let’s try to make you comfortable.” He and Robert rearranged Martin so he was leaning back in his chair with his head supported by telephone directories and towels on the table. Julia stood over him with a torch, shining it down at his face. She began to count, moving her lips silently. Martin fixed his eyes on Julia’s lips and prayed.

“Open, please,” said Sebastian. “Oh dear.”

Martin held Julia’s hand tightly while he waited for the novocaine to work; her other hand shook and the torchlight wavered across his face. Martin had a blessed sensation of pain being lifted away from him. “Steady, please,” Sebastian said. “I’ve almost got it.” The next few minutes were rather bloody. Martin closed his eyes. There was a dull crack, and then some probing. “That’s it, then,” Sebastian said, sounding surprised. Martin smelled clove oil and alcohol. Sebastian packed cotton into the empty gum space. “Bite down, please, gently.” Martin opened his eyes.

“All done,” said Sebastian, beaming. Martin sat up. The tooth lay in the bowl, brownish-grey and bloody-rooted and very much smaller than he’d imagined it. Julia was still counting and Martin put up his hand to tell her she could stop. “Eight hundred and twenty-two,” she said.

“Is that all?” Martin tried to ask her, but his face was numb and she didn’t understand him. The pain was gone, leaving a vacancy where there would be different pain when the anaesthetic wore off. “You’re a genius,” he mumbled to Sebastian.

“Not at all,” Sebastian said, but he looked relieved. “Anyone can extract a tooth. I’m glad it came out in one piece though, it looks awfully fragile.”

“If we’d had proper facilities, could it have been saved?” Robert asked.

“No…but we would have known that before taking it out, instead of afterwards.” Sebastian began to wash up. Julia helped him. He packed his satchel and shook hands with Martin, who tried to pay him for his services. “Certainly not, glad to help. You mustn’t smoke for a couple of days, and keep ice on it, please. I have to run now-I was in the middle of something when Robert rang me.”

Robert saw Sebastian out. When he returned Martin said, “What was he doing when you called him?” Martin imagined Sebastian leaning over an inert form on a steel table, wielding those shiny instruments…

“He was having tea at the Wolseley with a very lovely woman. She’s been waiting in my flat while Sebastian worked on your tooth. That’s one of the reasons it took me so long to bring him. That, and we had a hard time acquiring the novocaine. Which reminds me, we need to somehow get you antibiotics.”

Martin put his fingers to his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you, both. All three of you.” He looked up at Robert. “Must send him a bottle of Scotch. And one for you too.” Martin smiled lopsidedly at Julia. “You too?”

She smiled back. “No, thanks. It tastes like medicine.”

Martin said, “That reminds me, Nurse; I should take my vitamins.”

Julia looked embarrassed. “It’s not time yet.”

“I know, but I’m tired and I’m going to bed early. So be a darling…”

“Okay,” Julia said. She went off to get the pills.

Robert said, “What was that about?”

“Oh,” said Martin, “she’s been feeding me Anafranil. She’s pretending it’s vitamins, and I’m pretending I believe her.”

Robert laughed. “In my next life I’m coming back as a pretty girl. That’s so typical-you wouldn’t do it for Marijke, you wouldn’t even listen to me banging on about it, but for Julia you’re a model patient.” Robert filled the electric kettle and flicked the switch. “Can you eat something?”

“I suppose I ought to.” Martin watched Robert setting out the tea things. “Really, though, I am taking it for Marijke.”

“Are you? Have you told her?”

“Not yet. I thought I might surprise her one of these days.” Martin touched his cheek again; he could feel it swelling. He stood up slowly and retrieved the bag of peas from the freezer. Robert took the bag from him and wrapped it in a tea towel. Martin held it against his cheek, thinking of Marijke. He wanted to call her and tell her everything was all right, but he didn’t want Robert listening. Martin frowned and said, “Did Sebastian say I’m not to smoke?”

Julia came into the kitchen and looked at Robert. Are you still here? Robert said, “You can’t smoke or use a drinking straw because the extraction has to scab over and sucking might dislodge the scab.”

Martin said, “Oh,” so dismally that Robert and Julia both laughed. Robert said, “What’s Valentina up to?” and Julia mimed a hand writing on invisible paper. “Really?” said Robert. “Do you think she’d mind if I popped in?”

“I don’t know,” said Julia. “I don’t think she wanted me around. But go ahead. I’ll make the tea.”

Robert said to Martin, “Just call if you need anything.”

Martin said, “I’m fine now. Thank you again; that was…miraculous.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Robert said, and went off feeling pleased with himself.

Julia made tea and then poked around in the cabinets and refrigerator for possible dinner ingredients. She held up a tin of chicken noodle soup, and Martin said, “Yes, please.” His stomach growled. He said, “Your sister likes to write?”

Julia hesitated. Elspeth had told them not to tell anyone, and they hadn’t. She had been tempted to tell Martin, but something always held her back; she was afraid he would think her a liar. “Yeah,” she replied. “Just, you know, email, not real writing.” She gave Martin a mug of tea and opened the tin of soup. Martin put the frozen peas on the table and wrapped his hands around the mug, waiting for the tea to cool. The novocaine was wearing off. He hated the rubber-lips sensation it gave, but the in-between pain/not pain was worrying too.

Julia heated the soup, microwaved a potato, set the table, moving quietly around Martin’s kitchen, thinking now about Robert and Valentina downstairs with Elspeth; now remembering Sebastian’s slim gloved hands gripping the forceps to pull the tooth; and now the panicked expression on Martin’s face as he opened his mouth at Sebastian’s request, and the way the panic had subsided as Martin kept his eyes on her lips as she counted for him. Numbers…Why numbers? What’s comforting about counting? She turned to look at Martin. He was sitting slumped with his head tilted, staring off into nothing. He looks sad. Or maybe that’s just how he looks when he isn’t doing something else with his face.

Julia served Martin and herself. There was no point in worrying over whether Valentina expected to eat dinner with her; Robert was there. Martin ate carefully, trying not to bite himself. After the meal Julia counted out his pills and he swallowed them and smiled his half-smile at her. “Thank you, Nurse.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and began to clear the table. When she glanced at him a moment later he had lapsed back into his sad expression. “What’s wrong, Martin?”

“Oh-I know it’s silly, but I’m worrying because I can’t smoke. I know I ought to quit, but this doesn’t seem to be the right moment-that is, I’m always quitting, but I wasn’t planning to quit today.”

Julia smiled. “When our dad had his wisdom teeth out he couldn’t smoke so Mom smoked for him.”

“I fail to see how-”

Julia snapped her fingers. “Where are your cigarettes?”

“In the bedroom.”

She came back with the blue packet and the lighter, pulled her chair very close to Martin’s and lit a cigarette. “Okay, now, like this-” Julia took a drag, taking care not to inhale. Martin opened his mouth and she blew the smoke into it. “Yeah?” she said. Martin nodded and smoke came out of his nose. “Yeah.”

Julia put her hand on Martin’s shoulder. They leaned into each other. She turned her head and put her lips to the cigarette; the tip glowed. Martin’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth half-open. Julia tilted her face, and when she was inches away she blew the smoke very slowly; the sound Martin made as he inhaled reminded her of Valentina’s long asthmatic gasps. He exhaled, then chuckled.

“What?” she said.

“I’m awfully useless, aren’t I? Can’t even smoke for myself.”

“Don’t be silly,” Julia said. She touched his jaw. “Chipmunk cheek.” Martin raised his eyebrows. She took another drag on the cigarette. He leaned towards her eagerly.

When Robert went downstairs he found the door to the twins’ flat ajar. He knocked and went in. There was a window open somewhere in the flat and a cool damp breeze had found its way into the hall. Valentina was sitting on the sofa in the front room, surrounded by pieces of paper. The Ouija board and the plastic planchette were on the coffee table. The evening light made everything golden: all the faded rose and pink velvet brightened, Valentina’s pale green dress spread around her like a lily pad and her hair, electrified, encircled her face; everything merged in the golden light so that it seemed to Robert like a painting, one continuous surface. Valentina was sitting at the far end of the sofa with one foot tucked under her. She was facing the other end of the sofa as though someone were sitting there with her. Robert stood in the doorway and tried, wished and hoped to see this other. But he could not.

Valentina turned to him. He hadn’t noticed before how tired she looked; her eyes were bloodshot and had dark smudges underneath.

“Can you see her?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Tell me…how does she look?”

Valentina smiled. “She changed when you came in…” Valentina shook her head slightly. “Why shouldn’t I say that? Anyway, she’s wearing a blue silk dress. It’s tight at the waist and has an A-line skirt; her hair is short, there’s just a little curl to it, it makes her eyes look huge; she’s incredibly pale, except her hands and the edges of her ears…She’s wearing dark lipstick…What else should I tell him?” “Can you hear her?”

“No, she’s pointing to things…”

Robert sank down until he was sitting on the floor at the edge of the scattered papers. He leaned his elbows on the coffee table. From this vantage point he thought he saw a disturbance in the air where Elspeth should be: perhaps it was like looking through perfectly clear glass; perhaps it was like trying to see music. He shook his head. “I want to, but I can’t.”

The planchette began to move. Valentina wrote down the message. MAYBE SOON.

“Yes,” said Robert. He was relieved to be back in Elspeth’s good graces. He glanced at the papers on the floor. “What have you been talking about?”

“Family stuff,” said Valentina. “Elspeth was telling me about when she and Mom were little, growing up in the house on Pilgrim’s Lane.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you all that?”

“Not much. Mom told us a lot of stories about Cheltenham. You know, like, all the weird social hierarchies and boring school uniforms. Julia always says they should have gone to Hogwarts instead.”

WE LIKED IT BETTER THAN HOME

“Why, Elspeth?” said Valentina. But Elspeth didn’t elaborate. Valentina watched her watching Robert. Elspeth had leaned back slightly so that she and Robert seemed to be gazing into each other’s eyes. Then Robert turned to Valentina and said, “Your grandparents were awfully strict. Apparently boarding school was a relief; Elspeth used to talk about the school plays, and they liked to play pranks on the other pupils-you know, twin sorts of pranks.”

Valentina asked Elspeth, “Did you and Mom dress the same?”

AT SCHOOL EVERYONE DRESSED THE SAME. OTHERWISE NO ONLY WHEN WE WERE TINY. Valentina found it disconcerting that Elspeth was so wholly focused on Robert; since he had come into the room Elspeth had hardly taken her eyes off him. She’s so used to being invisible, she forgets I can see her.

All afternoon, and for several days running now, whenever Julia was elsewhere Valentina and Elspeth had been sitting together, conversing in halting questions and answers. It amazed Valentina how different Elspeth’s stories were from what their mom had told them. In Elspeth’s childhood, events tended to take dark turnings: a picnic by a lake ended with the drowning of a schoolmate; she and Edie tried to befriend a boy from next door who was later sent to an insane asylum. In every story Elspeth and Edie were a team; there was no hint of discord, no foreshadowing of any rift; they were together always, cleverer and faster than their many adversaries. The stories made Valentina long for Julia-not the Julia of now, bossy and stifling, but the Julia of childhood, Valentina’s protector and second self. The suspense of each story was heightened by the laborious movements of the planchette. Out of necessity Elspeth’s stories were marvels of compression. They reminded Valentina of the blue-and-white plaques in Postman’s Park.

Robert picked up a few sheets of paper. “May I?” Valentina looked at Elspeth, who shrugged. YOUVE HEARD IT BEFORE, the planchette spelled.

Valentina had added some punctuation. WE WERE NINE. ONE DAY WALKING HOME WE SAW A SIGN THAT SAID “PUPPIES FOR SALE” IN FRONT OF A SHOP. VERY EXCITED, WE WENT IN AND SPOKE TO THE OLD MAN AT THE COUNTER. HE WAS A TOBACCONIST. HE BROUGHT US THROUGH THE SHOP TO A SHED IN THE YARD. THERE WERE BEAGLE PUPPIES. WE PLAYED WITH THE PUPPIES FOR A LONG TIME. THEN WE WANTED TO LEAVE AND WE FOUND HE HAD LOCKED US IN THE SHED. The page ended there. Robert remembered Elspeth telling him, years ago; they had been walking in Pond Street, where the tobacconist’s shop had been. Valentina found the next page and handed it to him. WE SHOUTED BUT NO ONE CAME. THE MOTHER DOG WAS BARKING WITH US. IT GOT DARK. THE MAN UNLOCKED THE DOOR. WE RUSHED AT HIM KNOCKED HIM OFF HIS FEET AND RAN HOME.

Valentina thought, It’s like a fairy tale. How much is true? She had been enjoying herself, but now she felt apprehensive.

Elspeth remembered the cold, ugly shed, the anxiety of the puppies when she and Edie had yelled; she looked at Valentina and thought, Why am I telling her this? She’s tired and I’ve confused her. Elspeth spelled TELL US A STORY V and smiled as kindly as she could.

“Me?” Valentina’s mind went blank. I’m so tired. She wanted Robert to go away so she and Elspeth could resume their confidences. Or, she wanted to go downstairs with Robert, be kissed and hide from Elspeth. Or I could just run away and leave them to each other.

“What’s Julia doing?” she asked Robert.

“Nursing Martin, I imagine,” he said, and told them about Martin’s toothache and Sebastian’s valiant dentistry. Valentina felt a twinge of jealousy; Julia was fussing over someone else. Then she thought, No, I don’t mind. Really. She leaned sideways, her shoulder against the sofa back and her head drooping. Robert said, “Have you eaten anything?”

“No.” She remembered having breakfast, but that seemed long ago. “We haven’t been shopping.” She looked up at him. Her eyes seemed enormous, her face pinched.

Robert said, “You look a bit peckish.” Starved, more like. How long have you been sitting here? He stood up. “Elspeth, I think Valentina needs some dinner.” He held out his hands. Valentina took them and he pulled her up. She felt dizzy.

Elspeth watched them go. At the door Valentina turned and said, “I’ll be right back, Elspeth. I just have to eat something.” The door shut behind them.

Elspeth left the sofa and went to the open window. She waited. In a little while Robert and Valentina walked up the path, disappeared through the gate. I ought to know better, Elspeth told herself. She’s so accustomed to being looked after. The light was going. I ought to be happy for them. Elspeth watched the sky deepen. The streetlights went on.It was a lovely day, though. Almost like old times.

It was quite dark when Julia came in. She went through the flat flipping light switches, calling “Mouse?” When she got to the front room she turned on the floor lamp by the piano and closed the window. She gathered up the papers and riffled through them, stopping to read. Elspeth watched her, feeling pensive. Funny having one’s conversation all written out this way. It’s as though anyone can overhear, like having my phone tapped. But why not? Why tell Valentina and not Julia? Mustn’t play favourites.

Julia looked up as though she had sensed Elspeth’s scrutiny. “Elspeth? Where’s Valentina?”

Elspeth leaned over the Ouija board. DINNER WITH R, she spelled.

“Oh.” Julia sat down on the sofa, forlorn.

HOWS MARTINS TOOTH

Julia brightened. “He’s much better. He wanted to go to bed, so I came downstairs.”

YOU TAKE GOOD CARE OF EVERYONE

“I try.” Julia shook her head. “I think Valentina hates me for it.”

GRATITUDE IS TEDIOUS

“I don’t think there’s any danger of her being grateful. It’s just how it is; she gets sick, I take care of her.”

IF YOU LET HER GO SHE WILL LOVE YOU BETTER

“I know. I can’t.”

Elspeth was startled to see tears brimming in Julia’s eyes. They sat together in motionless silence. After a few minutes Julia left the room. Elspeth could hear her blowing her nose. When Julia came back she said, “Why does it say ‘head trauma’ on this page?” She turned over the papers so Elspeth could see them.

SHE ASKED HOW OUR FATHER DIED

“Oh. We never met him, did we?”

NO ONLY YOUR GRANDMOTHER

“But we don’t remember her.”

SHE DIED WHEN YOU WERE SMALL

“What were they like? Mom never talks about them.”

HE WAS DIFFICULT SHE WAS MEEK

Julia hesitated. She drew a few spirals on the paper while she considered her next question. Elspeth watched her and thought, That’s amazing; is there a gene for spiral doodling?

“Elspeth? What happened to you and Mom?”

SECRET

“Oh, come on, Elspeth-”

SORRY CANT GOODNIGHT

“Elspeth-?”

But Elspeth had gone. Julia shrugged and went to bed, feeling frustrated but excited. By the time Valentina came home Julia was asleep, dreaming about numbers and teeth.

Martin lay in bed with the phone pressed against his nonswollen cheek, listening to the ring tone in the dark. Marijke picked up on the seventh ring and he felt gratified.

“Martin?”

“Hello, my love. Shall I tell you my toothy tale?”

“I’ve been so worried. You sound as though you’ve got a mouthful of chewing gum.”

“No, but I think my cheek has octupled in size. You’ll never guess who Robert brought to extract my tooth…”

Marijke leaned back in her own bed and listened. He must have been so frightened; I should have been there. Fancy Robert knowing an undertaker dentist… Each of them warmed to the sound of the other’s voice. They lay in the dark together, in distant cities, each of them thinking, We were lucky this time. And they pressed their phones closer to their ears, and both of them wondered how much longer this separation could go on.

THERE ARE several ways to react to being lost. One is to panic: this was usually Valentina’s first impulse. Another is to abandon yourself to lostness, to allow the fact that you’ve misplaced yourself to change the way you experience the world. Julia loved this feeling, and she began to court it. London was the perfect place to get lost. The curving streets changed their names every few blocks, converged and diverged, dead-ended into mews and suddenly opened into squares. Julia began to play a game that entailed travelling on the tube and randomly popping out at stations with interesting names: Tooting Broadway, Ruislip Gardens, Pudding Mill Lane. Usually the aboveground reality disappointed her. The names on the tube map evoked a Mother Goose cityscape, cosy and diminutive. The actual places tended to be grim: takeaway fried-chicken shops, off-licences and Ladbrokes crowded out whimsy.

Julia’s mental map of London began to fill up with oddities: the cattle and elephants of the Albert Memorial; the shop in Bloomsbury that sold only swords and canes; the restaurant in the crypt of St. Mary-le-Bow Church. She went to the Hunterian Museum and spent an afternoon looking at clouded jars full of organs, a display on antiseptics and the skeleton of a dodo.

VALENTINA AND ELSPETH were playing a game with the Little Kitten of Death. It went like this: Valentina sat on the floor in the hall, near the front door of the flat. She had a bucket full of Ping-Pong balls she’d found in the pantry. (“Why, Elspeth?” she’d asked. Elspeth just shrugged.) Elspeth stood at the other end of the hall. The Kitten, as usual, had no clue that Elspeth was there, so when Valentina rolled a Ping-Pong ball across the floor the Kitten ran confidently after it, only to have Elspeth divert it at the last moment in an unexpected direction. Soon the Kitten was overexcited, pouncing madly at the little white balls that seemed to have their own ideas about where they might go, balls that might suddenly fly straight up in the air or simply reverse direction. Elspeth let the Kitten run right through her, enjoying the sensation of fur whisking through her phantom skin and bone. She lay down on the floor and let the balls roll through her, with the Kitten veering after them. Valentina saw her reach out with both hands as the Kitten approached, as though to grab her. Elspeth forgot that she was insubstantial. The Kitten ran through her hands; she felt something smooth and slippery hook around her little finger; she felt her hands fill up with something solid and she struggled with it as though she had caught a fish. The thing wriggled and tried to bite. Elspeth was holding the Kitten.

But at the same instant Valentina saw the Kitten drop to the floor and lie still. She came running. The Kitten was dead.

“Elspeth!” Valentina flung herself to the floor, seized the Kitten’s body. “What did you do? Put her back!”

Elspeth was still clutching the Kitten, who threw herself back and forth and clawed at Elspeth. Valentina couldn’t see the Kitten’s ghost, but she could see Elspeth grappling with something.

“Put her back! Now!”

Elspeth took the struggling Kitten and shoved her back into her limp body as best she could. It was like trying to put a live trout into a silk stocking: the Kitten Elspeth was holding was thrashing and terrified, and the Kitten Valentina was holding was inert and delicate. Elspeth was afraid she would injure the Kitten by trying to insert her back into her body. Then she realised that the Kitten was dead, and would continue to be dead if she was not firm about this. She decided to work on the head and let the rest follow. She felt as though she were using an old camera with a rangefinder, trying to align two images to make them one.

Elspeth motioned to Valentina to put the Kitten’s body on the floor. Elspeth found that the Kitten’s ghost was real in her hands; whatever the Kitten was made of, it was like Elspeth’s own ghostly self, it made sense to her in a physical way. The Kitten was the first thing Elspeth had touched since she’d died that seemed to exist with her, not in another realm. I’m so lonely, she thought as she tried to push the Kitten into her lifeless body. I wish I could keep her.

The Kitten stopped fighting and seemed to comprehend what Elspeth was trying to do. Elspeth made small pleating motions with her fingers, trying to seal the Kitten in; it reminded her of the way her mother pinched a piecrust all around the edges. Suddenly the Kitten’s ghost vanished. It absorbed itself into the body. The little white cat-body convulsed-the Kitten sat up, lurched sideways and then recovered herself. She looked around, like a child caught stealing a boiled sweet, and then began to lick herself all over.

Elspeth and Valentina sat on the floor, staring at the Kitten, and then at each other. Valentina left the room. She returned with the Ouija board and the planchette.

“What happened?” she asked Elspeth.

ROBERT SAT at his desk on a lovely May afternoon, trying to make himself write. He was working on the section of his thesis devoted to Mrs. Henry (Ellen) Wood, lady novelist. He found Mrs. Wood incredibly dull. He had ploughed his way through East Lynne, pored over the details of her life, and simply found himself unable to care about her at all.

When he was giving a tour, he always skipped Mrs. Wood. She would have fallen between George Wombwell and Adam Worth, not only alphabetically but geographically, and to Robert she seemed unworthy of their peculiar, almost dashing company. He sat gnawing his pen, trying to decide if he could omit her from the thesis. Perhaps not. He could try to make the most of her death, but that was also dull: she’d died of bronchitis. Damn the woman.

He was relieved when Valentina arrived to interrupt him. “Come outside,” she said. “It’s spring.”

Once they were outdoors their steps turned inevitably towards the cemetery. As they walked down Swains Lane they heard a lone tuba player practising scales in Waterlow Park. The notes had an elegiac quality. Swains Lane, being overshadowed by high walls on both sides, existed in a permanent dusk even as the sky above them was blue and cloudless. Valentina thought, We’re like a little two-person funeral procession. She was glad when they arrived at the cemetery’s gates and stood in the sunshine, waiting to be admitted.

Nigel opened the gate. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

Robert said, “No, but it’s such glorious weather, we thought we might go looking for wild-flowers.”

Jessica came out of the office and said, “If you’re going out, take some rakes. And no lollygagging, please.”

“Certainly not.” Robert equipped himself and Valentina with a walkie-talkie and two rakes as well as a large bag for litter, and they crossed the courtyard and went up into the cemetery. “Well,” said Robert, as they turned onto the Dickens Path, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you to work.”

“That’s okay,” said Valentina. “I’m pretty useless most of the time. I don’t mind raking. Where do all these empty water bottles come from?”

“I think people must throw them over the wall,” said Robert.

They raked in companionable silence for some time, clearing the path and collecting an impressive bag of fast-food wrappers and coffee cups. Valentina liked raking. She had never done it before. She wondered what other kinds of work she might enjoy. Bagging groceries? Telemarketing? Who knows? Maybe I could try lots of different jobs for a week at a time. She was imagining herself checking coats at the British Museum when Robert beckoned her over to him.

“Look,” he whispered. She looked and saw two small foxes sleeping nose-to-tail on a pile of old leaves. Robert stood behind her and put his arm around her. Valentina tensed. He released her. They walked down the path to let the foxes sleep and went back to raking.

After some time Valentina said, “What’s lollygagging?”

“I think that’s an American word. Jessica and James picked up a certain amount of American slang during the war.”

“But what does it mean?”

VALENTINA HAD brought her sewing machine to London, but she hadn’t laid a finger on it since that first day when they’d arranged all their belongings in the flat. It sat in the guest room and reproached her whenever she happened to notice it. The sewing machine had started to feature in her dreams, needy and neglected, like a pet she’d forgotten to feed.

She stood in the guest bedroom, staring at the machine. If this is what I want to do, I ought to do it. She had researched fashion-design courses on the Internet; you needed a portfolio to be admitted. She had not spoken to Julia about college in weeks. I’ll apply, and if I get in, I’ll just go. Dad would pay for school. Julia can’t do a thing about it. Valentina took the cover off the machine. She brought in a chair from the dining room; she found her suitcase full of fabric and emptied it onto the bed. As she picked up each piece of fabric, unfolded and smoothed and refolded it, she thought of Edie. Julia had no patience for sewing and had never learned. Valentina untangled ribbon and sorted spools of thread. She found her box of bobbins and her good scissors. Now everything was neatly laid out on the bed and she stood wondering what to make with it.

There was a pair of half-finished blouses she’d begun before they left Chicago. She could work on those. No, she thought. I want to make something new. And not a pair; I’m going to make just one.

At home she had a dressmaker’s dummy, but it was too cumbersome to bring to London. She got out her measuring tape and took her own measurements. How weird. I’ve lost weight. She sorted the fabric into piles: yes, no, maybe. In the maybe pile was a swathe of black velvet. She had bought it in eighth grade, during a brief flirtation with Goth fashion; Julia hated to wear black, so the velvet had stayed unused in Valentina’s collection of yardage. She unfurled it. Four yards? That’s enough for a dress.

She was sketching the dress when Elspeth appeared. “Oh, hi,” Valentina said. You’d think she’d notice the door was closed and I want to be alone.

Elspeth mimed writing and Valentina opened the sketchbook to a fresh page. ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE SOMETHING?

“Yeah.” Valentina showed her the sketch. “It’s a minidress with a built-in shroud.”

YOU’RE SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME WITH ROBERT.

Valentina shrugged.

THE NEXT morning Valentina watched Elspeth reading. Valentina had laid half a dozen old paperbacks creased open on the carpet in the front room. Elspeth read each page spread, then moved to the next and the next. She was mixing old favourites (Middlemarch, Emma, A Prayer for Owen Meany) with some ghost stories (The Turn of the Screw, plus bits of M. R. James and Poe) in hope of finding a few tips on haunting. The effect was slightly disconcerting. When she had read all the open pages she would go back to the first book and laboriously turn the page. Then she would proceed to the others, going along the rows until all the pages were turned. Valentina could see only some of Elspeth; her head, shoulders and arms were visible, but the jumper she was wearing vanished somewhere around the bottom of her rib cage. She was floating inverted above the books; if her whole body had been there she would have appeared to be dangling from the ceiling. If she had had any blood it would all have gone to her head. As it was, she looked perfectly comfortable.

“Do you want me to turn pages for you?”

Elspeth looked up, shook her head. She made a muscleman gesture, cocking one arm: I need the exercise.

Valentina was lying on the pink sofa with a tattered Penguin edition of The Woman in White. She found it difficult to concentrate on Count Fosco and Marian with Elspeth fluttering pages only a few feet away. She put the book down and sat up. “Where’s Julia?”

Elspeth pointed at the ceiling. Valentina said, “Ah,” got up and left the room. She returned with the Ouija board and planchette. Valentina put her finger to her lips. Elspeth looked at her quizzically. You needn’t tell me to be quiet. She moved to Valentina’s side.

Valentina said, “You know what happened with the Kitten?”

Elspeth turned away. I don’t want to talk about that. To Valentina she said nothing. Valentina persisted. “Could you do that with me? Take out my-soul-and put it back?”

No, Elspeth spelled.

“Couldn’t, or won’t?”

NO NO NO. She sat shaking her head. What a bloody daft idea was what she wanted to say. Instead she wrote, WHY.

“Because. Why do you have to know why?”

Elspeth wondered if this was what it would have been like to have a teenaged daughter: unreasonable demands, tendered with unthinking entitlement. She wrote, WHAT IF I CANT PUT YOU BACK.

“You could practise with the Kitten.”

RATHER HARD ON KITTEN

Valentina blushed. “But the Kitten was fine. And there’s no reason it wouldn’t work with me, so you wouldn’t have to do the Kitten again anyway.”

CELL DEATH BRAIN DAMAGE HOW DO WE KNOW KITTEN IS FINE

“Come on, Elspeth. At least think about it.”

Elspeth stared at Valentina. Then she wrote, FORGET IT, and vanished. Valentina sat thinking. A breeze ruffled the pages of the books lying open on the carpet. Valentina wondered if it was Elspeth or just wind. To annoy Elspeth she flipped all the books facedown. She had not expected Elspeth to agree. But she had introduced the idea, and she knew she would figure out how to get her way.

Julia was restless. She sat on the landing with her back against Martin’s front door, one leg thrust straight ahead of her and the other angled down the stairs. It was another rainy morning, and the light seemed to coat everything on the landing with extra dust. Julia could hear Martin grumbling to himself inside his flat. She wanted to go in and bother him, but she would wait a while yet. She changed her position so that both of her feet pressed against the piles of newspapers Martin kept on the landing. The piles were a bit unstable. Julia imagined them toppling over and burying her. She’d be smothered. Martin would never find her-he wouldn’t be able to open his front door. No, that’s not right. The door opens inward. Valentina would think she had run away; she would be sorry. I’ll be a ghost, then she’ll love me again. She’ll sit here all day with the Ouija board and we’ll have a great time. Robert would come up to look for them and be caught in an avalanche of newspaper; he would crack his head and die. Julia gave one of the piles a shove. It collapsed sideways, onto another pile of newspapers. This was not very satisfying.

I’m bored, Julia decided. It was no fun to be bored alone. Julia looked around, but found nothing worth looking at or thinking about. There was no point in going downstairs; Valentina wouldn’t talk to her.

Martin began to sing. Julia could tell that he enjoyed singing. It was not a song she knew. She thought it might be an advertising jingle. She kicked at the papers again but they did not fall over. Maybe I should get a job, she thought. I would still be bored, but at least I’d have a reason to leave the house. She smelled toast, and felt suddenly, inordinately sad. She gave a sharp kick and this time the newspapers obliged her by falling into a heap, covering her legs and stomach. It was somewhat like being at the beach, buried in sand, but the papers were less soft; they poked her with their corners. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to enjoy the experience. Nope, she thought. Pointless. Julia climbed out of the pile of news, stepped over it and opened the door. She followed Martin’s voice to the kitchen, where he sat preparing to eat-yes-toast.

The following morning Valentina and Elspeth sat at the Ouija board together. Elspeth had been doing some thinking.

I DONT UNDERSTAND, Elspeth spelled.

“I want to leave Julia,” Valentina said. Her idea had been growing on her until she thought of little else.

SO LEAVE HER

“She won’t let me.”

NONSENSE

“When you and Mom split up-”

WE HAD NO CHOICE

“Why not?”

Elspeth twirled the planchette aimlessly, then stopped.

“If Julia thinks I’m dead, she’ll let me go.”

JULIA WOULD BE CRUSHED IF YOU DIED EDIE AND JACK TOO

Valentina had not thought of her parents. She frowned, but said, “Look, Elspeth, it’ll be perfect. I’ll die, Julia will be forced to go on without me, she’ll get over it. And you’ll put me back in my body and I’ll live happily ever after, or, you know, I’ll at least be able to live my own life. I’ll be free.”

Elspeth sat with her fingers on the planchette, looking at Valentina. To Valentina her expression seemed irritated, then thoughtful. LETS CONSIDER THIS LOGISTICALLY, Elspeth spelled. YOU WILL BE OUT OF BODY FOR DAYS-THERE WILL BE A FUNERAL-BODY WILL BEGIN TO ROT-THEN BODY IS IN CEMETERY-WE ARE HERE-MAYBE-WHAT IF YOUR GHOST ENDS UP ELSEWHERE-HOW WOULD BODY AND SOUL GET BACK TOGETHER-BODY WILL BE HORRIBLE-IN SHORT YOU ARE INSANE

“We’ll get Robert to help us.”

HE WONT DO IT

“He will if you ask him to.”

Elspeth felt deeply agitated. Disaster, that’s what this is. The snake, the apple, the woman: it’s pure bloody temptation. It can only end badly. Tell her no. She can’t do it without you. If you refuse she’ll find a more sensible way to cope with Julia. No, no, no. Elspeth became aware that Valentina was sitting very patiently, like a good schoolgirl, waiting for her answer. Tell her absolutely not.

Elspeth put her fingers on the planchette. LET ME THINK ABOUT IT, she spelled.

VALENTINA SAT in the back garden drinking tea. It was a damp grey May morning, even earlier than she was wont to rise. The stone bench Valentina sat on was covered in lichen and the damp was getting through her dressing gown, an old quilted thing of Elspeth’s. She slid her feet out of their slippers and tucked her legs up so that her chin rested on her knees.

Elspeth sat in the window seat, watching her.

Valentina could hear magpies calling in the cemetery. Two of them settled on top of the wall and looked at her. They shifted from foot to foot. Valentina looked back at them, trying to remember the rhyme Edie had taught them:

One for sadness,

Two for joy,

Three for a wedding,

Four for a child,

Five for sickness,

Six for death.

Two for joy, she thought. That’s good. But even as she smiled to herself, three more magpies plopped down beside the first two, and a moment later they were joined by an especially large, shrieking magpie that landed in their midst and sent the others walking back and forth on the wall uneasily. Valentina looked away, then up at their window. Is that Julia? A dark form stood framed in the window against the darkness of the room, like a hole in reality. Valentina stood up and shielded her eyes with her hand, trying to see. Elspeth? No, there’s nothing there. It had been a disquieting thought, the dark thing in the dark…No, it’s nothing. Elspeth wouldn’t be so…strange.

Valentina drank the last swallow of tea, gathered up her cup and saucer and spoon, and went back into the house.

THE LITTLE Kitten of Death was sleeping on Valentina’s pillow. It was afternoon, and sunlight slanted through the bedroom window, across the rug, up the side of the bed, not quite reaching the Kitten. She was almost white enough to blend into the pillowcase, like a drawing of a polar bear in a snowstorm, Elspeth thought. Elspeth stood in the sun, letting it pour through her, watching the Kitten sleep. I want you. Elspeth felt depressed. She had never thought of herself as someone who would kill a beautiful white kitten while it napped. But apparently she was that sort of person. Don’t you worry, Kitten. I’ll put you right back. Elspeth extended one hand tentatively towards the Kitten; she did not stir. She poked her fingers through the soft fur of the Kitten’s belly. How did I do it, before? She slid her fingers inside the Kitten, who made a mew of protest and turned but did not wake. Elspeth trawled unimpeded through hot blood, organs, bones, muscles. She was groping for that snick of immateriality; her fingers would recognise the Kitten’s soul because it was made of the same stuff as Elspeth herself. Does it have a permanent location in the body? Or does it migrate? Last time it felt as though I’d hooked it with my finger. It was slippery like an avocado stone popping out. The Kitten moaned and curled up tighter. Sorry, Kitten. Sorry. Elspeth moved her hand higher, into the lungs, and the Kitten woke up.

Elspeth snatched her hand back. She can’t see you. But the Kitten was uneasy; she arched her back, looked around warily. She padded to the edge of the bed and listened. The flat was quiet; Julia and Valentina were out. Elspeth could hear Robert hoovering his kitchen. The Kitten circled and settled at the foot of the bed, front paws crossed, chin resting on them, eyes slitted. Elspeth sat beside her and waited.

A few minutes later the Kitten closed her eyes. Elspeth watched her sides rise and fall. The tip of her tail twitched. Gently. Elspeth stroked her head; she liked that when Valentina did it. Now it only made her flick her ears in annoyance.

The Kitten went back to sleep. Elspeth raked her fingers through the little white body in a quick swiping motion, the way the Kitten might bat at a toy. Something caught-the Kitten’s body slumped into itself like a cake collapsing-and Elspeth was holding a furious clawing, biting Kitten.

If she scratches me, can I heal? Elspeth imagined her ghost skin in tatters, and threw the Kitten onto the bed. They stared at each other. The Kitten hissed loudly. Elspeth was startled. If I can hear her..? She said, “It’s okay, Kitten,” and held out her hand. The Kitten backed away, hissing. She turned, jumped off the side of the bed and disappeared. Elspeth flew over the bed just in time to see a white haze dissipating by the bedside table.

What now? How can I put her back now? Elspeth thought of Valentina and despaired. She curled up next to the Kitten’s limp body. Come back, Kitten. I was only practising…Oh dear. The Kitten looked quite dead. Her eyes were half-open and the third eyelids had slid across. She looked like a feline alien. Her small pink tongue protruded, her head hung over her paws at an uncomfortable angle. I’m sorry, Kitten. I’m so, so sorry.

Where could she be? Was she even in the flat? Perhaps the Kitten had gone to prowl the back garden, or to be a little white cloud stalking the cemetery for the ghosts of sparrows and tiny frogs. Perhaps she would become a ghost kitten that haunted the dustbins of South Grove. Elspeth stroked the Kitten. Even her fur seemed to have lost its liveliness. She pushed her fingers into the Kitten’s side and was startled at the change: there was life in there, but it was the life of the things that break down the body. The micro-organisms that consume every dead thing had already been unleashed inside the Kitten.

Elspeth pulled her hand out and sat up. This isn’t going to work, Valentina. Not the way you think it should. By the time the body got through a funeral, the rot would be well under way. You’d die of putrefaction. You’d die of your own deadness.

Elspeth let herself thin and spread out into the air. She was ashamed that she’d killed the Kitten for the sake of a stupid idea. I should have known better. Poor Kitten. Elspeth went and curled up in her drawer. She stayed there feeling awful and monstrous, berating herself and wondering what everyone would think of her cruelty. The answer was nothing at all, because no one except Valentina would have any clue what Elspeth had done.

IT WAS JULIA who found the Kitten. It was her first death; her only thought was for Valentina; she wished that this might not be, that somehow the Kitten might wake up, that Valentina would never find out. But Valentina was only subdued. “Oh,” was all she said when Julia told her.

Julia found a hinged wooden box in the servant’s room. It had once held silverware but now had only empty spaces for utensils lined with pale green velvet. The silver had been a wedding present for Elspeth and Edie’s parents. It had vanished in a burglary in 1996. Julia wondered briefly why anyone would keep an empty box which had so completely lost its purpose. She carried it into the bedroom and placed it next to the Kitten’s body.

Valentina opened the box. “I don’t think she’ll fit,” she said.

“Maybe if she was more fork-shaped. Wait, I think this lifts out,” Julia said. The old glue gave way as Julia ripped the insert away from the box. This released a fierce mouldy smell. Valentina made a face and pulled her shirt over her nose.

ON SUNDAY afternoon, after they had closed the cemetery, Jessica and Robert sat with James on the terrace overlooking the Bateses’ back garden. It had been a frantic day-the magnificent June weather had brought the tourists in droves, and most of the guides were on holiday; Robert and Phil had been obliged to eject two extremely large and hostile filmmakers and their actors from the Eastern Cemetery; some grave owners had arrived from Manchester without the faintest idea of the location of their grandmother’s grave. Now the Bateses and Robert sat drinking whisky and decompressing.

“Perhaps we ought to make another sign to post at the gate,” said James. “All uncertain grave owners please present yourselves during office hours when the staff can attend to your very time-consuming requests.”

“We want to help them,” said Jessica. “But they must call ahead. These people who pitch up on the cemetery’s doorstep wanting us to do a grave search whilst they wait-it’s beyond anything.”

“They think the records are digitised,” Robert said.

Jessica laughed. “Ten years from now, perhaps. Evelyn and Paul are typing in the burial records as fast as their fingers can fly, but with one hundred and sixty-nine thousand entries-”

VALENTINA AND ELSPETH spent long hours conferring over the details of their plan. Everything had to be natural, casual. Elspeth worked out a way for Valentina to take some money from the account she shared with Julia; it would be enough for a year or two, if Valentina was frugal, and the money would not be missed until after the funeral. Valentina found a few anatomy books in the flat and spread them on the floor of the guest room for Elspeth. It was almost a game for them, to anticipate all the potential difficulties, to circumvent Robert’s objections, to avoid alarming Julia. What if…? one of them would begin, and they would converge on the problem like detectives until they had cracked it. They had private jokes, a secret language. It was all immensely satisfying, or would have been, if they had been planning a picnic, or a surprise party, anything other than Valentina’s death. Elspeth was amazed at Valentina’s relish for the details of the plan, and her ability to inflict grief thoughtlessly. But I’m no better. I’m helping her to do it. She wouldn’t do it if she knew…And what if it doesn’t work? What if it does? Elspeth watched Valentina and debated with herself. She thought, We mustn’t; it’s terribly wrong. But each night Robert would come and take Valentina away for dinner, for a walk. They always came back late, and whispered together in the hallway. Elspeth hardened her heart.

ROBERT DREAMT that it was Resurrection Day at Highgate Cemetery.

He stood at the top of the steps next to the grave of James Selby, the coachman. Selby sat on his grave, oblivious to the heavy chain running through his chest from grave post to grave post. He was smoking a pipe and tapping one booted foot nervously against the ground.

Trumpets brayed in the distance. Robert turned and saw that the path into the cemetery was covered with a long canopy of red fabric, and the dirt and gravel and mud of the path itself were draped in white silk. It was winter again, and the silk was almost the same white as the snow that lay over the graves. He saw through the trees that all the paths were swathed in red and white. Robert found himself walking. He looked down anxiously, afraid that his muddy boots would stain the silk, but he wasn’t leaving any tracks.

He came to Comfort’s Corners and found tables set out for a banquet. There was no food, only places laid with china and cutlery, empty wine glasses and empty chairs. The trumpets stopped, and Robert heard trees rattling in the wind. There were voices, but he couldn’t gauge where they were.

THE PHONE rang. Edie stretched out her hand and brought it to her ear, but did not immediately say anything. She was curled on her side, in bed; it was almost nine in the morning. Jack was at work.

“Mom?”

Edie sat up. She smoothed back her hair with her fingers as though Valentina could see her. “Hello?” She sounded as though she had been awake for hours. “Valentina?”

“Hi.”

“Are you all right? Where’s Julia?”

“She’s upstairs. Hanging out with Martin.”

Edie felt the adrenaline subside. She’s fine. They’re both fine. “We missed talking to you on Sunday. Where were you?”

“Oh…I’m sorry. We just…lost track of the days, you know?”

“Oh,” said Edie. She felt a pang of neglect. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing…I just felt like calling you.”

“Mmm, you’re sweet. So what’s going on?”

“Not much. It’s kind of rainy and chilly here.”

“You sound a little down,” Edie said.

“Oh…I dunno. I’m fine.” Valentina was sitting in the back garden, shivering in the drizzle. She hadn’t wanted Elspeth listening in on this conversation, but it was suddenly awfully cold for June and she had to make an effort to keep her teeth from chattering. “What’s up with you and Dad?”

“The usual. Dad just got a promotion, so we were out last night celebrating.” Edie could hear birds through the phone. “Where are you?”

“In the backyard.”

“Oh. Have you and Julia been anywhere fun lately?”

“Julia’s got almost the whole city memorised now. She can walk around without the map.”

“That’s impressive…” Edie thought, There’s stuff she’s not telling me. But then she thought that was inevitable: They move away and soon you have no idea. They make their own world and you don’t belong any more. Valentina was asking a question about a dress she was trying to make; Edie told her to email the sketch and then remembered that the twins had no scanner.

“Yeah, oh well. Never mind,” said Valentina. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Edie said. She just sounds strange.

“Yeah. I’ve got to go now, Mom. I love you.” If I stay on the phone I’ll cry.

“Okay, sweetie. I love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Valentina dialled her dad’s work number and got his voicemail. I’ll call later, she thought, and didn’t leave a message.

IT WAS almost dawn. Jessica stood at the window in the cemetery’s Archives Room, looking out over the courtyard at the Colonnade. The room was dark. She had lain awake most of the night worrying over the letter she had written to one of the cemetery’s vice presidents. Finally she had left a note for James and walked down here to put it right, but even though her head was crowded with the phrases that would convince the vice president of the logic of her request, she had not been able to sort out the tangle of her argument. Jessica leaned against the window sill, her hands clasped together in front of her and her elbows jutting at right angles. The trees and graves above the Colonnade were dark and hazy in the indeterminate light. The courtyard reminded her of an empty stage. So much work, she thought. No one realises how we worked. Every sett in that courtyard laid by hand-

Suddenly the courtyard was filled with light. Foxes, she thought and swept her eyes left and right, to see them. They’ve set off the motion detectors. But then a man walked across the courtyard. He didn’t seem fussed by the lights, didn’t hurry or change his course. Jessica craned her head forward, trying to see him better. It was Robert.

MARTIN WAS stumped. He had been working all afternoon on a cryptic crossword in celebration of Carl Linnaeus’ three hundredth birthday, but the clues wouldn’t come to him and the thing felt inelegant and lumpen. Martin stood up and stretched.

Someone knocked. He said, “Yes?” and turned towards the door. “Oh, Julia. Come in.”

“No,” she said, stepping into the room, “I’m Valentina. Julia’s sister.”

“Oh!” Martin was delighted. “At last! Such a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming-would you like some tea?”

“No, I-I can’t stay. I just came to tell you-you know the vitamins Julia’s been giving you?”

“Yes?”

She took a breath. “They-aren’t really vitamins. They’re a drug called Anafranil.”

Martin said gently, “I know, my dear. But thank you for coming to tell me.”

Valentina said, “You knew?”

“It’s printed on each capsule. And I’ve taken Anafranil before, so I know what it looks like.”

ROBERT THOUGHT afterwards that it had been like watching ballet.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Elspeth did not want Valentina to say yes. She wanted to pause in this moment before, before whatever was about to happen, before temptation, before disaster, before Elspeth had to do the thing she did not want to do.

Robert watched Valentina. She stood quite still. He wondered if he should open a window; the weather was still unseasonably cold for June, but who knew how long her body would lie there until Julia returned? The light was waning rapidly; crows were calling to each other in the cemetery. Julia was upstairs. Valentina closed her eyes. She stood at the foot of the bed, one hand curled around the bedrail. Her other hand clenched and unclenched around her inhaler. She opened her eyes. Robert stood only a few feet away. Elspeth sat in the window seat, elbows on knees, head in hands, her face tilted at an angle that denoted contemplative sadness. Valentina watched Elspeth and felt a spasm of doubt.

Robert hesitated, then stepped towards her. Valentina put her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his shirt.

AT EIGHT o’clock on the morning of the funeral Robert stood at Martin’s door, engulfed by the spill of newspapers. He tried to straighten them into piles but gave up when Martin appeared.

“Come in.” They moved through the flat to the kitchen. Robert sat at the table and Martin put the electric kettle on. Robert thought he seemed refreshingly normal and domestic compared to what was going on downstairs. You know you’re in trouble when Martin is the most functional person in the place.

“The funeral is at one, today.”

“I know.”

“Would you like to come? It’s all right if you can’t, you know, but I think Julia would appreciate it.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll call down if I can do it.”

“So I’ll put you down as a ‘No’?”

Martin shrugged. He held up two boxes of tea. Robert pointed to the Earl Grey. Martin put a tea bag in each cup. “How is Julia?”

“Her parents have arrived. Listening to Elspeth, I’d imagined they’d have three heads apiece and shoot fire from their eyes, but they’ve taken Julia in hand and they’re all, I don’t know, subdued together. None of us really believe it-they keep walking around the flat like they’re going to run into Valentina in the hall. Julia’s practically catatonic.”

“Ah.” Martin poured out the water. Robert stared at the stream. “They are staying in the flat?”

“No, at a hotel.”

“So Julia’s by herself in the flat?” “Yes. Her parents tried to get her to come to the hotel with them, but she wanted to stay in her flat. I don’t know why.”

“She shouldn’t be alone.” “Well, that’s what I came up to talk to you about. I want you to ask Julia up here tonight, and keep her here until I tell you it’s okay to let her go.”

Martin regarded Robert sceptically. “Why?”

Robert maintained what he hoped was an innocent air. “Julia shouldn’t be alone.”

“No, she shouldn’t be. But surely she’d rather be with her parents?”

“If necessary you can ask them up too.”

“You’re joking. You expect me to have Edie and Jack here? Have you looked at this place properly?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realise you had.” Robert switched tactics. “Look, Martin, it’s life and death: you’ve got to help me keep Julia out of her own flat for a few hours. I can’t depend on Edie and Jack.”

“What are you up to?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“It’s-a seance, of sorts.” “You’re trying to contact Valentina? Or Elspeth?”

“More or less.”

Martin shook his head, exasperated. “Surely this is not the moment? If you’re going to play about with that, can’t it wait?”

“It absolutely can’t wait.”

“Why can’t Julia be there?”

“I can’t explain. And you can’t tell her.”

“No. I won’t do it.”

“Why not?” Martin got up and paced around the kitchen. Robert instantly wished he had done this first, but they couldn’t both pace at the same time. That would be peculiar.

Robert said, “It won’t hurt Julia not to know. Here: I’ll make a bargain with you. If you’ll keep Julia here tonight, I’ll give you something you desperately want.”

Martin sat down again. “What’s that?” he said suspiciously.

“Marijke’s address in Amsterdam.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. He got up again and left the kitchen. Robert heard him walking across the hall into his office. He was gone for a while. When he reappeared he had a lit cigarette in one hand and a map of Amsterdam in the other.

“I thought you’d given up?” Robert said.

“I’ll quit again in half an hour.” Martin smoothed out the map on the table. Robert saw that it was covered with marks, notes, erasures. Martin pointed to a tiny red circle in the Jordaan. “There.”

Robert squinted, brought the minuscule words into focus. “Close, but no cigar.” They stared at each other. Robert smiled. “How did you happen to pick that spot?”

“I know her. She’s careful not to say much, but I remember things. We lived nearby, on the Tweede Leliedwarsstraat.”

“I’ll throw in her email address.”

“Marijke doesn’t do email.”

“She does. She’s had it for more than a year.”

“A year?”

“I’ll give you her address, email and a photograph of her apartment.”

“She sent you a picture of her place?”

“Several. Did she mention she’s got a cat now?”

Martin looked wistful. “Does she?”

“It’s a little grey cat named Yvette. It sleeps on Marijke’s pillow.” Martin sat quietly, smoking and staring at the map. “All right, you’re on. What do I have to do?”

Robert laid it out for him. It was simple, really; it was the only simple thing about that entire day.

When Jack woke up, Edie was standing in her nightgown at the French windows in the small hotel room, staring at the blue sky over the slate roofs of Covent Garden. He lay there watching her, reluctant to break into her thoughts. Finally he got up and went to the bathroom. Amazing how life goes on. Here I am pissing and showering and shaving like it’s any day, like we’re on vacation. Why didn’t we come and see them before? He wiped the last traces of lather from his neck and went back into the other room. Edie was still standing at the windows. Now her head was bowed. Jack walked to her and stood behind her, put his hands on her bare shoulders. She turned slightly.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Eight fifteen.”

“We can call Julia.”

“I’m sure she’s been awake for hours.”

“Yes.”

They continued to stand that way, Jack’s hands weighing on her shoulders. Edie said, “I’ll call her.” Her cell phone didn’t work here, so she fumbled with the hotel phone, misdialled and redialled.

“Julia?” I just wanted to hear your voice.

“Hi, Mom.” Oh God. I don’t know what to do, Mom.

“We thought we might come earlier.” I can’t stand to be in this room.

“Can you come soon?” I’m alone and I don’t know what to do.

“Yes, yes, we’ll just get dressed and take a cab. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Edie felt a surge of incongruous happiness. She needs me. Edie was smiling as she hung up the phone. She walked briskly to her suitcase and began to dress for the funeral. Jack went to the wardrobe, stood looking at his dark suit hanging by itself. He forgot, for a minute; he was lost in the dark wool hanging in the shadows of the wardrobe. Then he remembered and reached for the suit. I feel old. The suit was heavy, as though it were lined with some soft metal. He watched Edie bustling around, brushing her hair, putting on earrings. I don’t want to go outside. He sat on the bed holding a pair of socks. Edie saw him sitting motionless and said, “Come on, she’s waiting for us,” and it was that singular pronoun, pronounced impatiently, that finally bore down on him the fact of Valentina’s death.

Julia was waiting for them downstairs in the main hallway. She watched her parents through the narrow leaded window as they let themselves in the gate and walked along the path through the front garden. It was a bright June day, the sunlight made them seem extra-dimensional and distinct. They reminded Julia of a picture in one of the twins’ childhood books. A little girl leading a bear. Julia opened the door and wind rushed in, blowing Robert’s mail to the floor. She left it there.

Edie embraced Julia and said, “You aren’t dressed yet?”

Julia looked down at her sweats. “I didn’t want to wait for you upstairs. The flat is kind of creeping me out right now.”

“Stay with us at the hotel, then,” Edie said.

Julia shook her head. “I have to stay here.” Valentina’s here. She’s got to be.

Jack bent down to Julia and she clasped her arms around his neck. “Come on,” she said. They went upstairs, Julia leading the way.

Once inside the flat they hesitated. “Have you eaten?” Jack asked. He was ravenous, but felt guilty for thinking about breakfast.

“No,” said Julia, vaguely. “There’s probably some food. Have whatever you want. I’ll get dressed.”

Edie followed Julia. Yesterday, when they had arrived, Edie had been grief-numbed and jet-lagged. Julia had completely occupied her mind. This morning Edie began to notice the apartment itself. Elspeth suddenly seemed present to her in the furnishings, objects, in the paint on the walls and the angle of the light coming in the windows, in the very air. It was as though their childhood had been preserved in a museum. Edie shuddered. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom as Julia began stripping off her sweats. Julia had laid out her violet dress, white stockings and black patent-leather shoes. It was the same outfit she had chosen to bury Valentina in.

“Don’t,” said Edie.

“What?”

“Don’t wear what she’s wearing. I can’t-I want you to wear something else, please.”

“But-”

“Please, Julia. It’s too much.”

Julia looked at Edie and relented. She walked into the dressing room in her underwear and began taking things off their hangers, tossing them at the bed.

Elspeth heard Edie and Julia talking. She came out of her drawer and slowly made her way to the bedroom. She kept Valentina cupped in her hands. Yesterday Elspeth had stayed away from everyone. All night she had bargained with herself, confused and defensive. I’ll never see her again. She’ll be unhinged. I don’t want to see her. It’s my fault. She’s here and I should see her. If she knew she would never forgive me. Coward, coward. Murderer. Valentina had seemed to catch her mood and became subdued, a little sad apprehensive cloud wrapped in Elspeth’s dark musings. Now Elspeth crept towards the bedroom in a chastened state of mind.

Edie and Julia stood on opposite sides of the bed, flipping through a pile of clothing. Oh…there you are. Elspeth stood in the doorway, staring. Valentina became brighter, seemed to beat like a heart. Oh, you. What happened? How could this have happened to you? The last time she had seen her twin, it was 1984 and they were sobbing in each other’s arms at Heathrow, the babies in a double pram beside them. Twenty-one years later and here we are…You’re so different. Older, but there’s something else; harder. What is it? What happened? Elspeth stared and thought, He didn’t take care of you; you had to take care of yourself. No one loved you the way I did. If we’d been together…Oh, Elspeth.

She slunk around the edge of the room. Julia looked right at her and became still, watching. Can you see me, Julia? Or is it Valentina? Elspeth sat down on the window seat and tried to efface herself. Valentina twisted and throbbed in her hands. Julia walked over to where Elspeth sat and put a hand out, towards Valentina. Valentina stilled as Julia touched her. Julia closed her eyes. “Mouse?”

“What are you doing?” asked Edie. Julia stood at the window with one hand extended. “Julia?”

“She’s here!” Julia said, and burst into tears.

“What? No, Julia…here, come here.” Edie went to Julia and held her. Jack appeared in the doorway and Elspeth was shocked; he was so much older, softer; domesticated. Edie looked at Jack over Julia’s shoulder and shook her head slightly. He withdrew. Elspeth heard him walking through the flat and down the stairs. He’s gone to have a smoke, she thought. She watched Julia and Edie. Julia had stopped crying. They embraced, swaying back and forth slightly. Elspeth was envious. Then she was ashamed. She’s their mother. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to fix anything. Things that had once seemed important now revealed themselves as idiotic. We thought we were so clever. We were stupid. We bollixed it all up. Elspeth wondered if she could put things right again. If Valentina came back; if the twins went home? She would make Valentina go with Julia. She would sacrifice everything. All this sadness for nothing. She got up and left the room. She felt a kind of yearning, then realised that it was Valentina’s; Valentina wanted to stay, wanted to be with Julia and Edie. Sorry. I can’t bear to watch them any more. You have to come with me. Elspeth went to the office windows and looked out without seeing, clasping her writhing daughter to her chest.

Robert answered the knock at his door, expecting to see Julia. Instead it was Jack.

“I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been shooed out and thought maybe…”

He doesn’t want to be alone, Robert realised. “Right, of course. Come in.” Robert had been sitting at his desk, staring at his enormous manuscript. Anything was better than being alone. He led Jack to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Jameson’s?”

“Yeah. The last.”

Robert put out two glasses, and the bottle. “Water? Ice?”

“Yes, and no, thanks.” Robert ran some water into a carafe and put it in front of Jack. They sat across from each other. The kitchen seemed strangely cheerful, sun-bleached and empty. Jack wondered if anyone in this building had any food. Robert saw him looking at the bare cupboards. “I haven’t felt much like eating. I could make toast, though, if you’d care for any?”

“Sure. There’s no food upstairs. Julia looks gaunt.”

Robert didn’t reply but got up and began to make the toast. He opened the fridge and set out a jar of marmalade and a jar of Marmite. Then he sat at the table. Jack leaned back in his chair. The chairs were of the small fifties metal and vinyl variety. Robert wondered if the chair would fold up under Jack’s bulk. He got up again and fetched cutlery.

Jack said, “I wonder if I could ask you a kind of personal question?”

Robert made a noncommittal sound and sat down.

“You were Elspeth’s…?” Boyfriend? Significant other? What do they call an unmarried lover here?

“Yes.” I was Elspeth’s. Creature is the word you’re groping for. The toast popped up violently and startled them both. Robert put three pieces on Jack’s plate and one on his own. He handed the plate to Jack. There was a pause while they each spread marmalade on toast. Neither of them spoke until Jack had finished his toast. Robert handed him the fourth, untouched piece. Jack thought, He seems very detached. Robert thought,I’m going to be sick.

Jack poured himself a few fingers of whisky and added water. He began again. “Did Elspeth ever tell you what happened between her and Edie?”

Robert shook his head. That’s not what I expected, mate. “Not while she was alive. She left me all her personal papers, and in the papers were her diaries. And a letter to me, explaining some things.”

“Ah. I don’t suppose you’d let me look at any of it? The letter, maybe?”

“Erm, you’ve seen Elspeth’s will. She most particularly did not want you or her sister to have access to any of her papers.”

“Uh-huh.” Jack ate the last piece of toast. Robert watched him. Jack said, “I really just need the answer to one question. I know everything else.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Why did they do it?”

Robert said nothing.

Jack said, “I would like to know the point of this whole-stupid game we’ve been playing all these years. Because, as far as I can tell, nobody was fooled, but for some reason we all have to go on pretending we don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Don’t you know about the switch?”

“I do, but according to Elspeth you don’t.”

“But she knew I knew. I mean, pregnancy really changed her body-apparently Edie was the only one who didn’t realise…Maybe this was all some weird thing Elspeth was doing to Edie? Look, I know you can’t tell me anything,” Jack said. “But what if I tell you the situation as I understand it? And you can just, you know, elevate your eyebrow a little when you hear something that makes sense. Could we do that?”

“All right.”

“Okay.” Jack sipped the whisky. “I don’t drink at this hour. Usually.”

“No. I don’t either.” Until recently. Robert poured some whisky for himself. He thought the smell might turn his stomach, but it didn’t. He drank, cautiously. I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

“So,” said Jack, “it’s 1983. Edie and Elspeth Noblin live together in a little flat in Hammersmith, in bohemian squalor and at great expense to their mother. The twins are recently down from Oxford, and I am working at the London branch of the bank I still work for. I am engaged to the woman we both know as Edie, but who back then was known as Elspeth. I’ll stick to calling them by their current names, to avoid confusion.”

“Okay.”

“Elspeth-your Elspeth-was not fond of me at all. She wasn’t actively hostile, she just did that British thing, you know, where somebody doesn’t want to know you so they freeze you out. I don’t think it was personal, but she knew where things were leading: I was going to take her twin to America. I don’t know how much the twins issue affected your relationship with Elspeth-?”

“Not much. Edie was gone. Elspeth very rarely mentioned her. But Julia and Valentina have been educational.” Robert wondered what Julia had told her parents about his dealings with Valentina.

“Well, the thing about twins: no one can ever replace the missing twin. I mean, Edie and I, we love Valentina-but Julia…I don’t know how she’ll…” Jack looked at his hands. Robert found it hard to breathe. “Anyway. The twins-Edie and Elspeth-started acting weird. You never saw them together. They were a lot alike, but not as much as they thought they were. When they were impersonating each other there was always this extra thing, the acting, going on. I mean, you don’t have to work at being yourself, but when one of the Noblin sisters was being the other there was a noticeable smell of effort.

“So Edie started to impersonate Elspeth-that is, my fiancée started pretending to be her sister-and she started coming on to me, which is something your Elspeth would never have done in a thousand years, because she genuinely disliked me, in that impersonal way she had.”

“Why did she do that?”

Jack shook his head. “My wife has always been pretty insecure about herself. She was the weaker of the two, but over the years she’s taken on some of her sister’s personality. I think she was testing me, to see what I would do.”

“So what did you do?”

“I got mad. Then I made a big mistake. I played along with it.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed. So, yadda, yadda…things got complicated. I’m ninety-nine percent sure the woman standing next to me at the wedding was Edie. My Edie, you know what I mean. The switch happened when we got on the plane to Chicago.”

Robert imagined Elspeth sitting next to Jack on a plane. “Elspeth was terribly afraid of flying.”

“They both were. That’s why Edie and I didn’t come over to visit the girls, though it seems crazy, now. That isn’t what tipped me off.” Robert waited for him to elaborate. Instead Jack said, “Please-the answer must be in Elspeth’s papers. Why else would she be so hellbent on keeping them away from us?”

Robert said, “But I don’t understand-what is it you’re hoping to find out? Elspeth was pregnant, you were the father-it seemed obvious to them, in their self-absorbed way, that they should just trade identities and everything would be fine.”

Jack said, “I never slept with Elspeth.”

Robert thought, My brain is going to explode. “Stay there,” he said. He got up and went to the servant’s room, found the last box of diaries with Elspeth’s letter and carried it all to the kitchen. He extracted a diary and paged through it until he located the entry. “April Fool’s Day, 1983,” he said, and handed the diary to Jack. “At a party, in Knightsbridge. You were drunk. I think the joke was supposed to be on Edie, somehow.”

Jack held the diary at arm’s length, reading. “She doesn’t mention my name.”

Robert replied, “They wrote the diaries together.” He leaned over Jack and pointed to the entry just below the first one. “That’s Edie’s reply.”

Damn you. Can’t I have anything of my own? Jack read. He looked up, confused.

Robert said, “They tried to make it right, but they didn’t understand what would be involved. I can’t imagine they wanted to hurt you.”

“No,” said Jack. “I just happened to be there.” He put the diary on the table and closed his eyes, pressed his lips together. Robert thought, He didn’t know he really was their dad. Oh God. He thought of Valentina, and felt helpless, furious. Robert was unable to speak. Finally he gestured at the other diaries and said, “You’re welcome to look through all that.”

Jack replied, “No, thank you. I found out what I needed to know.” Jack stood up, disorientated and a little buzzed. They looked at each other and then away, mutually unsure suddenly on how to proceed.

Robert said, “I’ll see you at Lauderdale House.”

“Yeah. Um-thanks.” Jack lumbered off. Robert heard him treading slowly up the stairs. A door opened and closed. Robert got his wallet and keys and went out to buy flowers.

Valentina’s funeral was held at Lauderdale House, a sixteenth-century manor where Nell Gwyn had once lived, which now functioned as an art gallery/wedding hall/café. Her funeral was in the big upstairs room where the figure drawing and yoga classes usually met. The room was half-timbered and half-unfinished, as though the carpenters’ elevenses had lasted several decades. The coffin stood at the front of the room on trestles, covered in white roses. Folding chairs filled the rest of the space. Julia sat between her parents in the front row, staring out of the window. She remembered a story someone had told them about Nell Gwyn dangling her baby out of one of the windows at Lauderdale House. Julia couldn’t remember why this had happened, or which window.

The coffin was white, with simple steel fittings. Sebastian moved around the room, placing a water pitcher and empty glasses at the podium, depositing a newly arrived wreath at the front of the coffin. Julia thought he was like a butler in his super-efficiency and preternatural tranquillity. I’ve never met a butler. Sebastian glanced at Julia as though he knew she was thinking about him and gave her a calm smile. I’m going to cry, and if I start I’m not going to stop. She wanted to disappear. Sebastian put a box of tissues next to the podium. He does this all the time, as a job. Julia had never thought of death as something that would happen to her, or to people she knew. All those people in the cemetery were just stones, names, dates. Loving Mother. Devoted Husband. Elspeth was a parlour trick; she had never been really real to Julia. Valentina is in that box. It couldn’t be true.

I want to be haunted, thought Julia. Haunt me, Mouse. Come and put your arms around me. We’ll sit together and write our secrets with the plan-chette. Or, if you can’t do that, just look at me. That’s all I need. Where are you? Not here. But I can’t feel you gone, either. You’re my phantom limb, Mouse. I keep looking for you. I forget. I feel stupid, Mouse. Haunt me, find me, come back from wherever you are. Be with me. I’m afraid.

Julia looked at her mother. Edie sat stiffly, white-knuckled hands gripping her small handbag. She’s afraid too. Her father sat over-spilling his chair, smelling sweetly of unsmoked tobacco and alcohol. Julia leaned against him. Jack reached over and took her hand.

People filed in and took their places on the folding chairs. Julia turned to see, but most of them were strangers. There were people from the cemetery. Jessica and James sat behind the Pooles. Jessica patted Julia’s shoulder. “Hello, dear.” She wore a little black cloche with a veil that was like stars caught in a net. The Mouse would have been wild for that hat.

“Hello.” Julia didn’t know what else to say, so she smiled and turned to face the coffin. I would get through this better if I could sit at the back.

The officiant stood at the front of the room holding a clipboard and watching as people took their seats. She wore something red draped over her shoulders. Julia wondered what was about to happen. They had asked for a nonreligious ceremony. Robert had arranged everything through the Humanist Society. He had asked Julia if she wanted to speak. Now she had a much folded and crossed-out speech tucked into her bag. The speech was all wrong; it was inadequate and somehow untrue. Martin had read it for her and helped with the phrasing, but still the speech did not say what Julia wanted to express. It doesn’t matter, Julia told herself. Valentina won’t hear it anyway.

The red-shawled officiant spoke. She welcomed them and said some nonreligious things that were meant to be comforting. She invited people who had known Valentina to speak about her.

Robert stood at the podium. He peered out at the room, which was half filled. The Poole family sat a few feet away from him, regarding him stoically. Valentina, forgive me. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses. His voice, when he found it, was first too soft, then too loud. Robert wished to be anywhere else, doing anything else. “This is a poem by Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy,” he said. His hands held the paper steady.

“I made another garden, yea, For my new Love: I left the dead rose where it lay And set the new above. Why did my Summer not begin? Why did my heart not haste? My old Love came and walk’d therein, And laid the garden waste. “She enter’d with her weary smile, Just as of old; She look’d around a little while And shiver’d with the cold: Her passing touch was death to all, Her passing look a blight; She made the white rose-petals fall, And turn’d the red rose white.”

There was more to the poem but Robert did not read it. He looked at the people sitting in the folding chairs and was about to continue, but then changed his mind and sat down abruptly. People were confused by what he had read and there was some buzz of conversation in the room. Jessica thought, That’s quite inappropriate. He’s blaming Elspeth for something. He should have spoken about Valentina. Edie and Jack stared ahead at the white coffin. Jack wondered what on earth Robert meant.

Julia was angry, but she tried to quell it; she walked to the podium. Her limbs seemed to be remote-controlled. She unfolded her speech, then began to speak without looking at it. “We’re far from home…Thank you for coming even though you haven’t known us very long.” What else was I going to say? “Valentina was my twin. It never occurred to either of us that we might get separated. We didn’t have a plan for that. We were going to be together always.

“When we were little Mom and Dad took us to the Lincoln Park Zoo, which if you don’t know is a big zoo in the middle of Chicago. You can see the skyscrapers while you are looking at the emus and giraffes and stuff. And we were looking at this tiger. It was by itself in this fake landscape-I think they wanted it to think it was in China or wherever it was from. Valentina fell in love with this tiger. She stood there, like, forever, just looking at it, and it came over and looked at her. They stood there staring at each other till finally it kind of nodded its head and walked away. And Valentina said to me, ‘When I die I’m going to be that tiger.’ So I guess possibly she is a tiger now, but hopefully not in a zoo, because she actually hated zoos.” Julia took a deep breath. I will not cry now. “On the other hand, that was when we were eight years old, and lately we’ve been thinking

differently about life after death.” Robert thought, Oh, no. Julia continued, “I don’t know what Valentina exactly thought about death. Since we moved here she seemed kind of excited about it, in a way, but that was probably because we live next to the cemetery and we’re twenty-one and it didn’t seem like it had any direct application to us.” Julia had been addressing her remarks to a flower arrangement at the back of the room but now she looked at her mother. “Anyway, I don’t think she would mind too much. I mean, not that she would have wanted to die, but she was into this aesthetic thing about the cemetery, and if this had to happen I think she would be happy to be there.” What else? I love you, I don’t know how to go on without you, you were part of me, you’re gone, I want to die too. Don’t I?

“Anyway, thanks. Thanks for coming.” Julia sat down amid murmurs from the guests. Sebastian caught Robert’s eye. Robert could tell that Sebastian thought the speeches were a little irregular. The officiant said a few things, told everyone to walk across Waterlow Park to the cemetery, thanked them again for being there. The pall-bearers lifted the coffin and bore it out of the room. People waited for the Poole family to follow it; when they did not there was muted discussion, and everyone rose and filed out in twos and threes. The Pooles sat until the room was empty. Robert stood on the landing, waiting for them. Finally Sebastian offered Edie his arm. He wondered if she was going to make it through the interment. “Would you like some water?”

“No. No.” Jack and Julia got to their feet. Edie looked up at the three of them. I can’t move. Julia leaned over and whispered to her, “You can stay here. I’ll stay with you.”

Edie shook her head. She wanted to shut off everything, stop time. She was still thinking about the poem, about the garden laid waste; she imagined herself alone in such a garden, the flowers all dead and night coming; Valentina and Elspeth were buried there, and Edie thought that if she sat very still, if everyone would let her be, she would hear them speak to her. The vision possessed her and she could not shake it away. Jack reached down and lifted Edie off her chair; he enfolded her into himself. She began weeping. Sebastian took himself off to stand with Robert on the landing. They listened to Edie’s sobs. Julia walked out of the room and past them, and went downstairs without acknowledging either of them.

What on earth have we done? Edie’s tears were a solvent that removed Robert’s detachment, his resolve to just get through the day, his sense of himself as a decent person. He was a monster. Now he knew it. All he could do was carry out the plan, but the plan was ill-conceived and monstrous in its selfishness. “No,” he said.

“Sorry?” said Sebastian.

“Nothing,” said Robert.

Jessica had a powerful feeling of déjà vu. Once again they all stood around the Noblin mausoleum. It was summer instead of winter; there was Nigel by the hearse, the burial team standing by, Robert looking dazed next to Phil and Sebastian. There was no minister; the woman from the Humanist Society said a few words. Valentina’s coffin was placed on the floor of the mausoleum, ready to be put into its niche beneath Elspeth. The Poole family huddled together, Julia and the father practically holding up the mother. Sebastian adroitly produced a few chairs. The family sank into them, not taking their eyes off the door of the mausoleum. Poor dears. She was so young. Jessica turned her gaze to Robert, to whom she had not spoken since the morning she’d caught him in the cemetery. She whispered to James, “I think he’s going to faint.” Robert was quite pale and sweating profusely. James nodded. He took Jessica’s arm, as though she were the one who needed support.

The service was over. Nigel closed the door of the mausoleum. People began to drift down the path. There was coffee, food and drink back at Lauderdale House. Jack Poole talked with Nigel; Julia and Edie waited quietly. Robert began to walk away by himself down the path. Jessica called to him.

He turned and hesitated. Then he walked back to her.

“We’re so sorry, Robert,” said Jessica.

He shook his head. “It’s my fault,” he told them.

“No,” James said. “Not at all. These things happen. It’s terribly unfortunate.”

“It is my fault,” said Robert.

“Don’t blame yourself, my dear,” Jessica said. She began to feel disturbed. There was something about the way Robert looked at them. I used to think he was coming unhinged, but now I think perhaps he actually has done. That poem. Oh dear. “We ought to go down,” she said. They walked slowly together past the Egyptian Avenue towards the Colonnade.

At Lauderdale House most of the conversation was provided by people who had known Valentina only slightly. Jack had gone back to Vautravers with Edie so Edie could lie down. Julia sat bewildered and silent in a small circle of young Friends of Highgate Cemetery; Phil brought her tea and sandwiches and hovered nearby, waiting to be asked for something. Finally Robert came over.

“Can I walk you back to the house?” he asked. “Or Sebastian can give you a ride, if you’d rather.”

“Okay,” she said. Robert looked at her and decided it would be best to put her in the car. Julia had switched off; her eyes were blank and she did not seem to have understood the question. He helped her extricate herself from the Friends. They walked in silence to the street and waited together while Sebastian brought the car.

“How long did it take Elspeth before she was a ghost?” Julia asked quietly, not looking at him.

“I think she must have been a ghost right away. She says she was a sort of mist for a while.”

“I thought Valentina was there, this morning. In the bedroom.” Julia shook her head. “It just felt like her.”

“Was Elspeth with her?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see Elspeth.”

“No, I can’t either.” The car arrived. They rode up the hill in silence.

That afternoon seemed to go on and on. Robert sat at his desk, not thinking or moving. He wanted to drink, but he was afraid he’d get drunk and things would go wrong, so he sat there silently, doing nothing. Edie was asleep in the twins’ bed. Jack sat in the window seat with the curtains almost closed, listening to his wife’s soft snores and reading an American first of The Old Man and the Sea. Julia found that she could not stand to be indoors. She went and sat in the back garden, knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around her. Martin was practising standing near the windows. He saw Julia; he hesitated, then rapped on the window and beckoned to her. She jumped up and ran to the fire escape. He heard her thumping footsteps and unlocked the back door just as she reached it. Julia came in wordlessly and sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

“Have you eaten?” he asked her. She shook her head. He began to make a cheese sandwich. He poured her a glass of milk, set it in front of her. He turned on the stove and put the cheese sandwich in to melt.

“You’re using the stove,” Julia said.

“I decided it was okay. I had the gas company reconnect it.”

“That’s great.” She smiled. “You’re getting a lot better.”

“It’s the vitamins.” Martin searched his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes, extracted one and lit it. He sat in the other chair. “How are you? I’m sorry I didn’t come to your sister’s funeral.”

“I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Robert asked me-I went and stood on the landing, but I couldn’t go any farther.”

“Um, that’s okay.” Julia imagined Martin standing there, surrounded by newspapers, trying to walk downstairs by himself, failing.

Martin had been thinking all day of how he might persuade Julia to stay with him that night. He had plotted out various conversations, but now he blurted, “What are you doing tonight?”

Julia shrugged. “Having dinner with Mom and Dad, probably at Café Rouge. Then, I don’t know. I guess they’ll go back to their hotel.”

“Shouldn’t you go with them?”

Julia shook her head stubbornly. I’m not a child.

Martin said, “Will you come up and stay with me? I don’t think you ought to be alone.”

Julia thought of Elspeth lurking around the flat and said, “Yeah, I’d like that.” She sipped her milk. Neither of them said anything until the timer rang and Martin carefully extricated the toasted cheese sandwich from the oven, put it on a plate and set it in front of Julia. She looked at the sandwich and the milk and thought how odd it was for someone to be taking care of her for a change. Martin stubbed out his cigarette so she could eat. When she was done he cleared the dishes and said, “Would you like to play Scrabble?”

“With you? No, too humiliating.”

“Cards, then?”

Julia hesitated. “It seems weird to play anything when she’s-you know. I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Martin offered her a cigarette. She took one and he lit it for her. He said, “I think play must have been invented so we wouldn’t go mad thinking about certain things-but I have another idea: let’s have a memorial service of our own, since I missed the other one. Won’t you tell me about Valentina?”

At first he thought she wouldn’t reply. She stared at the tip of her cigarette, frowning. But then Julia began to tell Martin about Valentina, in halting words; he coaxed each story from her until the words began to create the Valentina who would now live in Julia’s mind. Julia spoke of Valentina for hours, the afternoon slipped into evening, and Martin mourned for the girl he had met only fleetingly, a few afternoons ago.

Jessica had his key, so Robert had taken Elspeth’s. The key to the door in the back-garden wall had hung, unused, in her pantry for as long as he had known her. He had taken the key to the Noblin mausoleum from Elspeth’s desk a week ago. The two keys rested with the key to the twins’ flat inside his overcoat pocket. Robert stood at his window looking out over the front garden, waiting for dark.

Julia and her parents walked up the path and through the gate, on their way to dinner. Robert thought, Now. If I don’t do it now, I won’t be able to do it at all.

He went out his back door, leaving it unlocked. Though Martin’s windows were papered over, Robert still looked up at them as he crossed the back garden. That’s odd. He’s taken down some of the newspaper. There was light in Martin’s office; all the other rooms were dark. Robert slipped through the green door, left it ajar.

The most direct way to the Noblin grave was to cut through the Circle of Lebanon and the Egyptian Avenue. He used his torch in order to go more quickly. There was a half-moon, but the trees over the Avenue made it ink black. He switched off his torch and listened. He was not afraid then. He was aware of being pleased to be in the cemetery. The only noises were the usual night noises: light traffic up and down the hill, a few insect sounds, muted in the chill of the night. Robert walked out of the Avenue and uphill to the Noblin mausoleum.

The key did not work easily. I ought to have oiled the lock. He got it to turn and swung the door open. He stepped inside the little room, put on a pair of latex surgical gloves and pulled the door almost shut behind him in case anyone came by. Though they might be more afraid of me than I of them. He knelt by Valentina’s coffin. He felt enormous and intrusive in the tiny space, like Alice grown huge with her arm up the chimney of the White Rabbit’s house. The coffin had been pushed back into its niche, so he tugged and pulled until it was out where he could work on it. There is no respectful way to do this, he thought as he took a screwdriver out of his pocket and began to unscrew the lid. It seemed to take forever. He was sweating by the time he managed to pry up the lid. It gasped as it came undone, as though he had opened an enormous jar of pickled gherkins.

Valentina’s body lay ensconced in white silk. She looks comfortable. Robert reached into the coffin with both arms and scooped Valentina up; she weighed nearly nothing. She was slightly damp from the plastic-wrapped ice Sebastian had concealed underneath her. She was pliable, though very cold. Sebastian had kept his promise: Valentina gave off no whiff of decay. Robert was not sure where to put her. He stood awkwardly, turned and put her down on the floor. He took the ice out of the coffin and threw it into the bushes, then put the screws inside the coffin and lowered the lid. He pushed the empty coffin back into its niche. Robert gathered his screwdriver, torch, looked around for any other signs of his visit, found none. He took off his overcoat and laid it on the floor. He placed Valentina’s body on the coat and wrapped her up in it. Now she was hidden.

He realised that the keys were in his coat pocket, so he fished them out and put them in his shirt pocket. Then Robert picked up Valentina. He carried her pressed against his body, her head on his shoulder. He held her with one arm embracing her torso while he opened the door with his other hand and passed through the doorway carefully, anxious not to jostle his burden. He relocked the door, flicked off the torch and began walking back down the path in darkness.

That was strangely easy. I always imagined bodysnatching to be a more strenuous occupation. Of course, it would be if there was digging involved. And they used to carry dark lanterns and shovels and so forth. Robert wanted to giggle. Or whistle. I’m not quite right. I’ll have a drink when I get home. He turned into the Egyptian Avenue. In the blackness he could feel Valentina jouncing with each step he took. He slowed down and held her more tightly.

He reached the Circle and walked up the stairs. At the top he thought he heard someone breathing. He stood still, held his own breath, heard nothing.

Finally he was at the Catacombs. He came to the green door and pushed it gently. The garden was empty. The same light was on in Martin’s office, as though no time had passed, nothing has happened. There was light in the twins’ bedroom; the curtains were drawn. Robert went into the garden, locked the door and ran across the moss. Then he was inside his flat. Sweat was pouring off him.

What on earth am I doing? He laid Valentina on the kitchen table, went to the freezer and took out a bottle of vodka. He was about to drink from the bottle, but hesitated, then took a glass from the cupboard, poured some vodka and drank it down, staring at his own reflection in the kitchen window. He could see Valentina’s muffled form reflected behind him, lying mummy-like, as though on display in a museum. He poured another drink, drank half of it. He locked the back door.

Come now, my darling.

Robert laid Valentina down carefully on his bed. At first he put her down crossways, so that she was parallel to the headboard and her feet stuck out over the side. He unwrapped her and threw his coat over the bedroom chair. Her little black shoes seemed to be levitating above the floor, as though Valentina’s legs had nothing to do with holding them up. Robert frowned. That’s no good. He gently gathered her into his arms and reapplied her to the bed, this time in the conventional position for sleeping. He smoothed out her dress, placed her arms comfortably beside her body, massaged her fingers. Valentina’s head lolled on his pillow as though her neck no longer had bones. Robert took her face in his hands and turned it until she looked content, not broken. He stroked her eyebrows.

The room was cold-every night that June had been cold. That morning he had filled the bedroom with flowers. He had hesitated in the shop: lilies or roses? He had decided on pink roses, because the smell of lilies always made him queasy, and because Valentina had once said something mildly approving about pink roses. Now the roses sat in vases, in old tins, in pots borrowed long ago from Elspeth. There were roses on both sides of the bed, on the window sills and radiator covers. The roses were the pink of ballet shoes, the pink of old ladies’ dressing gowns. In the chill of the bedroom they seemed to shiver, and remained furled, scentless. Robert had bought a shopping bag full of candles from a street vendor in Hackney. Each one had a picture of a saint on it. She had explained to him that the candles had to burn until they expired, and then the thing you had prayed for would be granted to you. Robert hoped it was true. The candles stood next to the roses, burning away.

Robert sat next to Valentina on the bed, watching her. He found it astonishing how perfect she was. He tried to remember what Valentina had said about the Kitten’s revival. There were dark circles under Valentina’s eyes, and though she was rather bluish in some places and too red in others, she was not like the medical-school and police-morgue corpses, which puffed up and oozed and discoloured and stank. The morgue corpses led active existences; they were trying to transform themselves as quickly as possible into unrecognisable beings, not to be mistaken for people any more. Valentina was still essentially Valentina, and he was thankful that this should be so.

He wondered if he should talk to her. It seemed unnatural to be in the room with her and not to say anything. Her hair was tangled. To distract himself, Robert began combing her hair. Very delicately, so as not to tug at her scalp, he began to work the tangles out. Her hair was like dental floss, slippery handfuls of white. The comb burrowed in, separating, smoothing. At first his hands shook, but then he became absorbed in the repetition and in the beauty of Valentina’s shining hair. This is almost all I want. To sit here forever and comb her hair. The slight resistance of the hair against the comb was like breath, and without knowing it Robert combed Valentina’s hair at the rate of his own breathing, as though this could communicate breath from his lungs to her hair, as though her hair were now going to take over the task of breathing for her.

He made himself stop, finally. Her hair was perfect and to do more would disturb it. Robert sat still and listened. Outside the wind was coming up. A dog barked nearby. But Valentina was silent. Robert looked at his watch. It was only 11:22.

The phone rang, once.

Julia was tired. Over dinner Edie and Jack talked about the funeral; about London as they had known it twenty-two years before; they offered to stay in London with Julia, to take her home to Lake Forest; they recognised that she was too overwhelmed to decide right now, then stared at her eagerly as though they might whisk her off before she had finished eating her steak frites. They spoke of Valentina carefully; it was difficult for each of them to refer to Valentina in the past tense, so they talked around and around her. By the time Julia had seen them into a cab and walked back to Vautravers she wanted to crawl up the stairs on all fours. But Martin asked me to come stay with him.

When she came into his office Martin was sitting at the computer, but the screen was dark; he sat with his hands folded and his head bowed, as though saying grace.

“Martin?”

He roused himself. “There you are. I was getting sleepy.”

“Me too. I just wanted to say goodnight. I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, don’t, yet.” Martin held out his hand. She relented and went to him. He said, “I was thinking-I might leave tomorrow.”

“Leave?” She couldn’t take it in. “How can you leave? I wish…Couldn’t you wait?”

Martin sighed. “I don’t know. If I wait, will I be able to do it at all? But perhaps tomorrow is too soon. I don’t want to upset you.”

Julia bent and clasped her arms around his neck. She did it impulsively and Martin reacted as he often had when Theo was small: he pulled Julia onto his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder. They sat this way for a long time. Martin thought she might have fallen asleep when she said, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said. He stroked her hair. “But don’t be so tragic; I’m sure I won’t be gone long. Or, you can come and visit.”

“It will be different. Everything will be different now,” she said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. What do people do by themselves?”

“Come with me,” he said.

Julia smiled to herself. “That’s silly. You’re going to Marijke. You don’t need me.”

“Don’t I?”

She raised her face and he kissed her. The kiss progressed; he broke off, panting, and took her hand away from his belt buckle. “That’s no good,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“No-that is, I would if I could-Julia, the Anafranil-one of the side effects is-”

“Ohh-”

“That’s why I never liked to take it.”

“It’s like a chastity belt.” She began to giggle.

“Minx.”

“I guess Marijke doesn’t have to worry about me.”

Martin said quite seriously, “In the larger sense, no, she doesn’t. But Julia, you aren’t meant for an old man like me. Your lover should be what I was thirty years ago.”

“But, Martin…”

“You’ll see,” he said. He moved to stand up and she slid off his lap. “In the meantime, come along and let me sing you a lullaby.” He took her hand and led her to his bedroom. “Ah, wait; let me just check something.” He took out his mobile, pressed 2 on his speed dial, let it ring once and hung up. It was 11:22.

She watched him curiously. “What are you doing?”

“For luck,” he said. “Come along.”

Robert checked to make sure that the keys were still in his pocket. He laid two of them on his dresser and kept the key to the twins’ flat. He gathered up Valentina and lifted her off the bed. He caught sight of the two of them in the mirror, an image out of a horror film: the candlelight flickering from below, dark shadow cast across his face, Valentina’s head thrown back, her neck offered up, her arms and legs dangling. I am the monster. He felt the absurdity of the situation, and then deep, unspeakable shame.

He walked through the flat as quietly as possible. Valentina’s foot banged against a wall; Robert flinched, then wondered if she would feel it when she was back in her body. He opened his front door an inch and listened. He heard traffic, wind rattling the windows. He eased Valentina through the doorway and carried her upstairs. At the twins’ door he had to shift her; he stood with Valentina draped over his shoulder like a suit collected from the dry-cleaners’ while he fumbled with the key. He realised after messing about unsuccessfully that it hadn’t been locked in the first place.

He carried Valentina into the dark front room. His eyes adjusted, and he laid the body carefully on the sofa.

Softly: “Elspeth? Valentina?”

No response. He sat peering at Valentina’s body by the glow of his wristwatch and the moonlight, waiting.

Elspeth was there. She felt Valentina frantically squirming in her hands. Is she trying to escape? She was afraid to open her hands, afraid that Valentina would disperse, that she would fight or thrash around. Be still, darling. Let me think. She could not put off the decision any longer.

Robert watched Valentina’s chest. He waited for her to breathe.

Elspeth knelt by the body. It was cool, profoundly still, alluring. She felt Valentina go quiet. She felt Robert sitting close to her, eager, unhappy, frightened. She looked at the body, lax and waiting. Elspeth made her decision and opened her hands.

A white mist gathered over Valentina’s body. Elspeth watched it hover, waited to see what it would do. Robert saw nothing, but the air became suddenly cold. He knew the ghosts were there. Breathe, Valentina.

Nothing happened.

After a while he was aware of a change in the body. Something was present. There were faint sounds, gurgling, liquid; he had a sense of something far away coming closer.

The body opened its mouth and took a jagged, asthmatic breath, seemed to hold it for a long time, let it out and began sucking at the air again with horrible rasps. It lurched sideways and Robert caught it; it was convulsing and the breaths stopped. Then suddenly there was another agonised gasp. Robert held Valentina’s hands pinned on either side of her torso. He knelt next to her, braced her with his body. The sofa was slippery and he tried to keep her from falling onto the floor. Something like electricity wracked her body; her limbs contracted; her head swerved violently back and forth, once.

She cried out: “Uh-uh-uh!” and he said, “Hush, ssh,” as though she were an infant, but now she thrashed and her eyes opened. Robert recoiled at the blankness of her eyes. It was not even animal, it was the gaze of brain damage; it looked past him into nothing. Her eyes closed again. Her breath quietened. He put his hand on her chest. Her heart was beating.

He was afraid.

“Elspeth?” Robert whispered, to the room. There was no response. “Can I take her away now?” Nothing.

A harsh voice said his name in the dark.

“I’m here, Valentina.” She said nothing. He smoothed her hair. “I’m going to take you downstairs now.” She kept her eyes closed, nodded awkwardly like a child too drowsy to speak. He lifted her off the sofa; she tried to put her arms around his neck, but couldn’t. He carried her to the landing. She was live weight now, dense and mobile.

In his own flat he laid her back on the bed. She sighed and opened her eyes, looked at him. Robert stood over her. She seemed almost normal: exhausted, limp. Something about her expression was different, though. He couldn’t think what it was. She held out her hand, palm up, quivering with the strain of holding up her arm. He took it in his; her hand was quite cold. She pulled his hand slightly: Lie next to me.

“Wait a minute, Valentina.”

He took out his mobile, speed-dialled Martin’s number. He let the phone ring once and hung up. Then Robert placed the phone and his glasses on the bedside table. He took off his shoes, walked around the bed, sat down beside Valentina. She looked up at him and smiled, shyly, lopsidedly, a smile that happened at different rates of speed in various parts of her face. How ordinary she appeared: the violet dress, the white stockings. There were places where blood had pooled and made her skin deep red; these were becoming pink. Bluish white skin was beginning to flush. He touched his fingers to her cheek. It was pliable, soft.

“What was it like?”

Lonely. Cold. Insanely frustrating. “I-missed you.” Her voice cracked; she sounded like a ventriloquist’s dummy, off-kilter, high, raspy and stressed wrong.

“I missed you too.”

She held out her hand again. He lay down beside her and she turned her face towards him. Robert wrapped his arms around her. She was trembling. He realised then that she was crying. It was such a normal sound, the sobbing girl in his arms was so tangible, it was easy to forget the reason for the tears, it was natural to comfort her. He stopped thinking and let himself kiss Valentina’s ear. She cried for what seemed a long time. She hiccuped; he handed her a Kleenex. She fumbled at her nose, dabbed at her eyes. She tossed the tissue over the side of the bed.

“Okay, then?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She tried to unbutton his shirt, but her fingers weren’t working properly. He closed his hand over hers. “You sure?”

She nodded.

“We should wait…”

“Please…”

“Valentina…?”

She made a little noise, a mewing sound.

He undid the buttons himself. Then he undressed her. She tried to help, but seemed too weak; she let him undo zips and strip the violet dress from her, let him peel off her knickers and carefully remove her white lace bra. Her body was marked by the lace and elastic and the folds of her clothing. She lay with eyes half-closed, waiting while he removed his clothes. One of the candles guttered.

“Are you cold?”

“Uh-huh.” He carefully peeled the blankets and sheets from under her, got into bed and pulled the bedding over the two of them. “Mmm,” she said, “warm.” He was startled at how cold she was. He ran his hands over her thighs; they were like meat from the refrigerated case at Sainsbury’s.

Robert wasn’t quite sure if he could bring himself to kiss her mouth. Her breath smelled wrong, like spoiled food, like the hedgehog he’d found dead in the heating system at the cemetery’s office. Instead he kissed her breasts. Some parts of her body seemed more alive than others, as though her soul had not quite spread all the way through her body yet. Valentina’s breasts seemed to Robert more present, less isolated from her self, than her hands; Valentina’s hands were like badly wired robots. He chafed them between his, hoping to warm them back to life, but it didn’t seem to help.

Something is wrong, he thought. He drew her close to him. She was so small and slight that Robert thought of Elspeth in the last days of her illness; she seemed barely there, as though she might slip back to wherever she’d been.

“How do you feel?” he tried again.

“So cold,” she said. “Tired.”

“Do you want to sleep for a while?”

“No…”

“I’ll sit and watch you, make sure you’re okay.” He stroked her neck, her face. Her eyes rested on his, questioning. Something is different. Her voice. Her eyes. She gave in, nodded. Robert got out of bed, blew out all the candles. So much for wishes. He turned on the light in the hall, left the door ajar so he could see her. Then he climbed into bed again. She was shivering. He lay pressed against her, watching the smoke of the extinguished candles disperse in the narrow band of light from the hall.

“I love you, Robert,” she whispered. In the corridors of his memory doors were flung open and he almost knew-

He said, “I love you too-”

She brought her clumsy hand to his face, watching him; stretched out her index finger, and with great concentration and gentleness touched the tip of her finger to the indentation above his nose, stroked it down and over his lips, over his chin.

“-Elspeth.”

She smiled, closed her eyes, relaxed.

Robert lay with her in the dark, in his bed, as the knowledge and horror of what they had done spread before him.

Martin sat propped against the pillows, smoking. Julia lay pressed against him. “Sing,” she commanded. Martin stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. He sang, “Slaap kindje, slaap; Daar buiten loopt een schaap; Een schaap met witte voetjes; Die drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes; Slaap kindje slaap.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Mmm…‘Sleep, baby, sleep; there’s a little white sheep walking outside, it has little white feet and drinks sweet milk.’”

“Nice,” she said, and then she fell asleep.

JULIA WOKE before dawn. Martin was sleeping curled away from her. She got up quietly, went to the bathroom, dressed. She slipped out of the flat and went downstairs, shed her clothes and put on a nightgown. She got into her own bed and stared at the ceiling. After some time, she got up and took a shower.

EDIE AND Jack stayed in London for two weeks. Every day they showed up at Vautravers before breakfast, collected Julia and whisked her off to visit their old friends, to see London through the prism of Edie’s childhood, Jack’s first days of working at the bank, their courtship. Julia was grateful to be busy, though the pace seemed forced and there were moments when she caught her dad looking confusedly at her mom, as though the stories weren’t quite the same ones he remembered.

One day, when Edie and Jack arrived, Robert went out and intercepted them in the front garden. “Edie,” he said, “I need to talk to you. Just for a sec.”

“I’ll go upstairs,” Jack said.

Edie followed Robert into his flat. The flat had an abandoned feeling; there was little furniture and though it was tidy enough Edie sensed that things had been subtracted from it.

“Are you moving out?” she asked.

“Yes, slowly,” said Robert. “I can’t bear to be here alone, somehow.”

He led her through the flat to the servant’s room. It was almost bare except for a number of boxes filled with ledgers, photographs and other papers.

“Elspeth left me these,” he said. “Do you want them?”

Edie didn’t move. She stood with her arms crossed protectively, looking at the boxes. “Did you read them?” she asked.

“Some of them,” he said. “I thought they might mean more to you.”

“I don’t want them,” Edie said. She looked at him. “Will you burn them for me?”

“Burn them?”

“If it were up to me I’d have a big bonfire and burn the lot. All the furniture too. Elspeth even kept our bed, from when we were kids; I couldn’t believe it when I walked into her bedroom and saw it.”

Robert said, “It’s a pretty bed. I always liked it.”

Edie said, “Will you burn these for me?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Robert had not seen her smile before; the effect was painfully Elspeth-like. She turned and he followed her back through the flat. At his door he said, “Is Julia going to stay here?”

“Yes,” said Edie. “We thought she might want to come home, but she won’t. She seems to feel that she’s somehow abandoning Valentina if she leaves the flat.” Edie frowned. “She’s become very superstitious.”

Robert said, “That’s understandable.”

Edie paused. “Thanks again; you’ve been very kind. I can see why Elspeth and Valentina both cared for you.”

Robert shook his head. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s all right,” Edie said. “It’s going to be all right.”

Later, after the Poole family had gone out, Robert lugged the boxes into the back garden and burned everything in them, piece by piece. Edie saw the scorched place on the moss the next morning and was glad.

JULIA WOKE UP late and confused after a night of bad dreams. Edie and Jack had reluctantly gone back to Lake Forest two days earlier. Julia had been relieved to see them go, but now the flat was too quiet; she seemed to be the only person left in Vautravers. Since it was Sunday she pulled on yesterday’s clothes (which were also the clothes of the day before and the day before that) and walked to the corner shop near the bus stop to buy the Observer. When she came back there was a large motorcycle blocking the path to Vautravers. Julia edged around it with annoyance. She walked back to the gate and into the house without realising that she was being watched.

She made tea and opened a packet of chocolate digestives. She poured milk into the tea and arranged everything on a tray along with her cigarettes and carried it into the dining room. The ghost of the Kitten was curled up on top of the newspaper, one eye open and the other closed. Julia set the tray down on the table and reached right through the Kitten, plucked the paper off the table and began to separate the sections. The Kitten looked reproachful and began to lick her nether parts with one leg stuck up in the air. She vaguely resembled a cello player, but Julia couldn’t see the Kitten, so she didn’t make her usual joke about it.

AT FIRST Valentina was almost nothing and she knew almost nothing. She was cold. She moved aimlessly through the flat, waiting with a sense of anticipation.

Time passed very slowly in the flat. Valentina paid no attention at first, but as the months went by and she began to understand that she was dead, that Elspeth had somehow gone away, that now she was stuck with Julia forever; when she started to grasp what might have happened to her, time slowed until Valentina felt as though the air in the flat had turned to glass.

The Kitten was her constant companion now. They spent days following pools of sunlight, lolling together on the carpets; they watched television with Julia in the evenings and sat in the window seat at night while Julia slept, staring out over the moonlit cemetery. It’s like an endless dream, where nothing ever happens and you can fly. Julia seemed to be watching for her, waiting; sometimes Julia would say her name uncertainly, or look in Valentina’s direction, and at those times Valentina would remove herself to another room: she did not want Julia to know she was there. Valentina was ashamed.

Summer ended and autumn arrived. On a cold rainy evening Valentina saw Robert come up the front walk. In the garden was a For Sale sign; Martin and Marijke had put their apartment on the market. Julia was upstairs helping Theo unpack and repack boxes for the move.

Robert let himself into the flat. The small typed card with Elspeth’s name on it was still tacked to the door, causing him a spasm of sadness. He had taken off his muddy shoes downstairs, and walked noiselessly through the hall into the front room. He turned on the light by the piano and looked around. “Valentina?”

She stood by the window. She waited to see what he would do.

“Valentina-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She had been longing to see him for months. Now he was here, and she was disappointed.

Robert stood in the middle of the room, his head tilted as though listening, his hands hanging empty at his sides. Nothing moved. There was no cold presence, only vacancy.

“Valentina?”

She wondered if he had loved her.

He waited. Finally, receiving no encouragement, he turned and padded out of the flat. She watched until she saw him walking up the path and through the gate, dark against the darkness. Where are you going, Robert? Who will be waiting for you when you get there?

JULIA WALKED down Long Acre, window-shopping. It was a sunny day in January, a Saturday, and she’d woken up that morning with an urge to go somewhere there would be people; she had gravitated to the shops thinking she might buy a present for Theo, or something cute to wear when she went to visit him at the weekend. Julia was dressed carelessly in yesterday’s jeans and a sweatshirt under one of Elspeth’s coats. She felt extra thin, as though she were barely occupying her clothes. She walked like an astronaut, swaggering in furry moon boots. She wandered into a tiny shop in Neal’s Yard that was full of pink things: hi-top sneakers, feather boas, vinyl miniskirts. Mouse would have been in love with all this, she thought. Julia imagined herself and Valentina in fluffy angora sweaters and Day-Glo green fishnet stockings. She held the sweater to her chest in front of the mirror, and was repelled by her own reflection; the girl that peered out of the mirror looked like Valentina with the flu. Julia turned away and returned the sweater to the rack without trying it on.

IT WAS the first day of spring. Valentina sat in the window seat, looking out over Highgate Cemetery. Morning sun slanted in, pouring through her onto the worn blue rug without pause. Birds wheeled over the trees, which were bursting with new leaves; Valentina could hear a car crunching the gravel in St. Michael’s car park. The outside world was shiny and clean and loud today. Valentina let the sun warm her. The Kitten jumped up onto her lap, and she stroked its white head as she watched pigeons building a nest in the top of Julius Beer’s mausoleum.

Julia was asleep. She slept sprawled out now, as though trying to cover as much of the bed as possible. Her mouth was open. Valentina got up, still holding the Kitten, and walked over to the bed. She stood watching Julia. Then she put her finger in Julia’s mouth. Julia didn’t wake. Valentina went back to the window seat and sat down again.

An hour later Julia woke up. Valentina was gone; Julia showered and dressed and drank her coffee alone. She found the silence of the building disturbing. Robert had moved away; the upstairs flat hadn’t sold yet (perhaps because it was still half full of boxes). Maybe I should get a dog. How do you get a dog in London? English people were so fanatical about animals; maybe you couldn’t just go to the pound and pick one out. Maybe they had to approve of you. She imagined what the dog adoption people would think when they saw her living like an orphan in huge silent Vautravers. Maybe I should be one of those women who have one hundred cats. They could swarm all over. I could let them into Martin’s flat and it would be a cat Disney World. They would go bonkers.

Julia sat with her mug of coffee at the dining-room table. It was littered with sheets of paper and pens; the paper was covered with Valentina’s writing. The dog-adoption people would see that she was insane. She began to gather up the papers. She strode into the kitchen and threw them in the bin. When Julia returned to the dining room, Valentina was standing by the French windows with the Kitten draped over her shoulder. Julia sighed.

“I can’t leave that stuff sitting around,” she said. “It looks weird.”

Valentina ignored this and made the gesture they’d always used to get waiters to bring the bill: she pretended to write on her upturned palm.

“Fine,” said Julia. “Okay.” She took a sip of her now-cold coffee, just to show the Mouse that she didn’t have to jump when told. Valentina stood patiently by her chair, and Julia sat down and drew a piece of paper to her, picked up a pen and poised it over the paper. “Go ahead,” she said.

Valentina leaned over and the Kitten jumped onto the table and stood on the paper. Valentina brushed her aside and put her hand into Julia’s.