“I don’t understand,” I reply, looking at the side of Leah’s face with an attempt at frankness that I hope is mirrored in my tone, “because she never tells me anything. I know you went away and I know you stayed longer than you meant to and I know you must miss it now, or else why do you run the taps all night and carry your sound box everywhere you go? Problem is I don’t know what it is you miss, I don’t know what it is at all.” “What is it you imagine,” Leah says to me, though her eyes are now on the therapist, “what is it you imagine when you think about where I was?”
