“And I'm moved, it's so beautiful. Not what I wrote, but to have it given back like this. To have her remember the words and the tune. To hear it in her voice.”

“I could hear the exasperation in her voice, so beautiful and familiar, but sad, too, like hearing church bells right before your funeral.”

“The secretary moved in to block Simon as I followed Thierry into the office. As the door closed, I heard her whisper, "I think it's very sweet, you sticking up for your brother like that.""I'm not trying to be sweet," Simon said, raising his voice so Thierry could hear. "I'm trying to be fair. But apparently no one's interested in that.”

“Fancy clipped a scrap of newsprint to her canvas and wrote, I don't have friends.Ilan's hand covered hers briefly as he plucked the charcoal from her hand and wrote beneath her words, you have me.”

“There are things I need to ask her. Not what happened, back then in the time I lost, because now I know that. I need to ask her why. If she remembers. Perhaps she’s forgotten the bad things, what she said to me, what she did. Or she does remember them, but in a minor way, as if remembering a game, or a single prank, a single trivial secret, of the kind girls tell and then forget. She will have her own version. I am not the centre of her story, because she herself is that. But I could give her something you can never have, except from another person: what you look like from outside. A reflection. This is part of herself I could give back to her. We are like the twins in old fables, each of whom has been given half a key.”

“Safe?” Her voice was small, timid and delicate. But beautiful. The one word chimed like little bells. Her first word spoken to me.”