Eventually he speaks. ‘You will sleep again, you know.’ I do not believe him. I stare at the road. ‘And one of these days, you will wake up and think: Wow, what a gorgeous morning.’ ‘I won’t.’ I refuse to. ‘You will. Because it will be warm, and you will have slept so well, and the sun will sparkle on the dew, and a butcherbird will be singing. It won’t overpower her loss. It will just be a beautiful morning in the midst of her loss. And it will hold you gently.’
