‘Just like me. Without the offer of money.’

The airport exit loomed.

‘There’s a lot of food in the boot,’ she said. ‘Perishables. I was at the Vic Market yesterday.’

‘I’ll park,’ I said.

‘No. Do an illegal at the international. Don’t switch off. I’ll get my bag out and be gone in seconds. No farewells, my father said. He couldn’t bear goodbyes.’

I thought that I would have liked her father, a farmer crushed by the bank and a tractor, gone without a farewell.

We travelled in silence. It was starting to rain. I couldn’t find the wipers.

She showed me how you did it.

‘This car?’ I said.

‘Keep it at your place. Drive it. I’m coming back for this baby. Baby. Also I forgot to switch off the fridge and freezer. Do that for me?’

‘Only if you’ll promise to keep yourself nice.’

‘Of course. And if I don’t, you won’t hear it from me.’

I went up the ramp and stopped behind a taxi. Linda took my head in both hands and kissed me, hard, pulled back, kissed me again, mouth open a little, a decent kiss.

‘More,’ I said. ‘Baby.’

‘Later. Baby. Wish me luck.’

I nodded, not inclined to speak.

She leaned across me, hair against my face, and made the boot rise. She took her travelling bag from the back seat, brushed fingertips across my lips, and she was out, plucked her slim case from the boot, closed the lid. I saw her go through the doors, not a backward glance, gone as if posted.

I drove home with something lodged in my throat, travelled at a measured speed beneath the high, cruel lights, no urge to overtake anything, smelling new leather, hearing the soft sound of the Italian wipers, like the breathing of a sleeping child. At the old boot factory, I parked beneath the oaks. The mobile rang.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Andrew Greer, my former partner at law, ‘I will be attempting to spring a client now languishing in remand. Thereafter your expensive services will be needed.’