“You’re very interested in my work. Why are you here, again?” He stops chopping abruptly. Says, slow and uncertain, “You… That is, I thought—” “Fernley,” I clarify. “Why are you in Fernley?” Because there was an odd, lost hesitance in his voice, like he thought I meant, Why are you in my house? As if I’d ever ask him that, even as a joke. Keynes is here because he needs looking after, whether he wants it or not.
