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don’t. That’s it, Meg. I can’t access the data. Not at will, I can’t. That’s it.’
    ‘I’m not so sure it is it,’ said Meg. ‘Episodic memory and isolated retrograde amnesia are rare enough. But this may be another ball game.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’ said Colin.
    ‘Me? I’m not going to do anything. You’re the one that has to do. Now then. Once you’ve had a flashback from your forgotten past, are those images retained and retrievable in the present?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you able to remember dreams as flashback?’
    ‘I think I can. But I can’t be sure whether they’re dreams or something else that actually happened.’
    ‘Mm. Okey-dokey. Well. There’s a handful of case studies of your other syndrome of autobiographical total memory, and some ambitious people are trying to build their reputations on it. Hyperthymesia; makes it sound kosher. They may be right. But I’m not having you dragged in. You don’t know these careerists. They’re bent on being first, and they wouldn’t see; or if they did some wouldn’t care. On top of that, if hyperthymesia turns out to be genuine, which it well may, you could have both syndromes, butt-jointing at some time when you were about thirteen. And that, Humpty Dumpty, O best belovèd, would be dynamite to blow you apart. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. I’m flummoxed. This could be unique. I’d not wish uniqueness on anyone.’
    ‘What’s the answer?’ said Colin.
    ‘Squit all, at the moment,’ said Meg. ‘You have flashback from your forgotten period, and those images are retained and retrievable.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So why did you smash the glass, Colin?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why did you smash the glass?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why did you?’
    ‘No!’
    ‘OK. We’ve shovelled enough shit for one day. Let’s sleep on it. I want you to have an MRI brain scan.’
    ‘Not hospital,’ said Colin. ‘I mustn’t leave home. I have to be there.’
    ‘It’s a morning trip to Macclesfield, non-invasive, no after-effects; and it might tell us more.’
    ‘Will Bert look after me?’
    ‘I’m sure he will. Let’s have a breather, and I’ll show you something that might interest you. Come into the corridor.’
    ‘I’m feeling so much better,’ said Colin.
    ‘Don’t worry. It’s a transient euphoria.’
    They went from the library to the corridor. The corridor ran straight through the house, from front to back. ‘Look over the lawn,’ said Meg. Beeston bluff was in the centre of the view. ‘At the winter solstice, the sun sets towards the hill, almost.’
    ‘“Almost”?’ said Colin.
    ‘It goes down to the left, by that bush, and when the sky’s clear Beeston stands out a short while later, as if there’s a fire behind it.’
    Colin held his thumb sideways and closed one eye. ‘About ten thousand years ago it would have set exactly there. This corridor could echo an earlier significance.’
    ‘Oh Gawd. Are you into ley lines?’ said Meg.
    ‘No, but it may be, it may be, that this place could have been used for solar and lunar observations.’
    ‘Well, it has good vibes,’ said Meg. ‘Anyway. Time to go now.’
    ‘Will it be inconvenient if I wait till Bert gets here?’ said Colin.
    ‘I think you’ll find he’s outside.’
    Colin went to the front door. The taxi was on the drive; and Bert was reading a paper.
    ‘Have I kept you waiting?’ said Colin.
    ‘Part of the service,’ said Bert. ‘Are you all right? Let’s be having you.’
    Colin lowered the window. ‘I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to.’
    ‘Take care,’ said Meg.
    ‘Do you always say that?’
    ‘Not always.’ She waved as they started to move away.
    ‘Our Meg,’ said Bert. ‘She’s an odd un, that one. She is and all. What! She reckons you up, rump and stump, she does. Rump and stump. What! But she sees you right.’
    ‘How long have you known her?’ said Colin.
    ‘Meg? Oh, as long as me arm.’
    They came to Church