Chapter ThreeThe weekend passes Felix by beneath his bed covers, where he knows warmth and sleep, only vaguely aware of other things: a text message, the groan of the boiler, birds fidgeting outside the window. When he remembers that Michael spent the night on his sofa, he ventures from his bedroom but finds the rest of the flat empty. Standing in the main room, he looks out over the balcony. The evening and perhaps the drinks that helped make it have left him hollow and light-headed, as though he is not really in the room at all but a presence, viewing a moment in time.
During one such waking moment, he reminds himself that this is what weekends are meant for. On these days the angels themselves settle like dark sentinels in their roosts, cooing soft hymns while dreaming of life, love an
