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pills again. You’re putting on weight. You’re much calmer than you were.’
    ‘I’m fine, Hector, honestly.’
    He looked out across the sea. ‘Am I doing something wrong?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I’ve done everything I can.’
    I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so good to me.’
    ‘It’s because I love you, Marta,’ he said. ‘I just want to take care of you.’
    ‘Sometimes I just feel alone,’ I said.
    ‘But you’re not,’ he said. ‘I’ll always be here.’
    I didn’t say anything.
    ‘Do you still miss them?’
    Slowly, I nodded my head.
    He looked so sad. I tried to think what to say to make it all right again, when he turned to me.
    ‘If we get married, you won’t ever have to be on your own again. We can start a new family together. Perhaps it will help you forget.’
    I looked down at his hand around my wrist. Red blotches had started to rise around his fingers.
    ‘Would you like that?’ he said.
    I couldn’t answer. He saw me looking at my wrist and removed his hand. When he saw the red marks, he traced them with his finger.
    ‘You’re so delicate,’ he said.
    I rested my head on his shoulder, breaking eye contact. ‘I’m so tired all the time,’ I said.
    ‘We don’t have to have a big thing: I know you’re not up to that. Just a small ceremony. I’ll get Mother to organize it when we get back.’
    I was still shivering.
    ‘Let’s go in,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a bath. And next time you feel like swimming, I can come with you. You shouldn’t have gone out alone.’ I let him rub my arms with the towel. ‘Marta,’ he said, the name sounding strange to me. ‘Look at me.’ I lifted my eyes slowly over the dark stubble on his chin; across his cheeks, tanned from the summer sun, to his waiting eyes. ‘I’ve only just found you. Don’t leave me again. Promise me.’
    His eyes were wide with something.
    ‘I promise,’ I said. I tried to stand up then, but the light was bright all around me, and I fell back, shutting my eyes. He stood up and held out his hand. I paused, then took it.
    He pulled me up, putting his arm around my shoulder for a moment. It was wet and heavy; it felt wrong there.
    I watched the water fall from my hair, forming circles on the wood near his hairy toes. Then we walked back towards the house.
    In the kitchen, my fork clatters onto the table. I breathe in and out. I know that Hector saved me from drowning on that trip: we’ve told people the story for years. It is light, romantic, and people love to hear it. But this version is different. It’s as if I am listening to a familiar song played slightly out of tune. That heaviness I felt then, a sickness turning, is here with me now.
    I have waited long enough, I think, digging my fork into the casserole and shovelling down mouthful after mouthful, barely chewing. I want to stop and wait for Hector, the guilt hot in my cheeks, but I am too hungry.
    He is coming down the stairs, across the new carpet we had put in after Kylan went to the city three months ago. I make myself put down my fork and swallow.
    I see the navy blue velvet of his slippers, then the bottom half of his corduroyed legs. He is slow, holding on to the handrail to protect his knee. My stomach dips. He comes in, half smiles, and sits in his place. He looks at the food, at my half-eaten plateful. I keep my eyes on the table. He picks up his knife and fork. I pick up mine. He begins to eat. I do too. We eat in silence. I concentrate on my lamb. It’s perfectly cooked.
    Let him talk first. Remember that his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
    He always breaks the silence if I leave it long enough.
    ‘How was the market?’ he asks.
    ‘Good,’ I say. ‘The butcher was busy.’
    ‘He’s a good butcher. You can trust his meat.’
    Hector says this as if he is an expert on butchering practices. Or as if he goes to the butcher himself.
    ‘Yes,’ I say.
    We continue eating.
    Remember