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I took a sip of beer then set the glass down on the table between us. The head had completely collapsed by now, leaving a ring of white bubbles and a few little islands of foam gently fizzing themselves out of existence.

‘Sophie?’

‘What?’

‘What are we talking about here?’

Sophie leaned forward on her elbows.

‘Take it home and burn it,’ she said, quietly.

9

The Leaves of Autumn

I left the pub around nine p.m. and spent the next ten minutes standing outside a bus shelter on the opposite side of the road, happy to be outside despite the cold, my chin tucked deep into the zipped-up collar of my coat. A strong, wintry wind blew up from the river, gusts buffeting and breaking against me, full of the scent of rain.

Autumn had come early this year, the leaves turning quickly in the frosts. The change had taken me by surprise, as it usually did. I spent so much time inside the flat, and inside my own head, that I’d barely noticed summer running out of steam until I stepped out of my door that afternoon and found I had to go back for a jacket.