And I said who’s Arthur, and she said, “A man there who knows how to read what other people look past.”

That was all.

She went back to whatever she was doing and I went home.

So I walked back up the path on my own and the book had slid off the lid and was on the ground at the edge of the opening, one corner pressed into the wet soil.

I crouched down.

The mud was colder than I expected.

I got my fingers round the edge and it came away with a sound like a bandage.