You know, her father said behind her, you’ll be leaving me soon, don’t you? George didn’t turn round. Purchased that ticket to the moon for me already, have you, then? she said. Silence, except for the French people all talking years ago. She turned. Her father looked grave. He didn’t look misted or sentimental. He didn’t even look drunk, though the room round him smelt like he couldn’t not be. It’s the nature of things, her father said. Your mother, in some ways, is lucky. She’ll never have to lose you now. Or Henry.
