We’d made a pact. Back in Oxford. Hand in hand in front of the mirror to double-check with our reflections that the promise would hold true. We would weather whatever was going to come. September stood next to me but, still, it felt as if my hand closed around nothing. I squeezed and squeezed. July, she said, do you promise? I would promise her anything. July, she said, listen to me. We’d never broken a promise to each other before.
