*Tarquin*
Very delicately, Isolde slips an arm around my neck. Then she lets go altogether and steps onto my branch. I feel a moment of panic, but the limb is stout. And she is close against me, clouding my mind. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Right,” I say, awkward as always. I should know what to say, I think, frustrated.
Her mouth feathers over mine. “Rupert sees his father every Thursday from two to three o’clock. I have the feeling that you saw Alfie more often than once a week.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” I say, leaning back against the trunk again, one arm around her waist, the other holding tightly to a branch over our heads. “From the moment I saw him… I couldn’t stay away.”
She opens her mouth, but I silence her with a swift kiss. “Don’t tell me he’s in a better place,” I say,
