Doubt was a luxury, according to her mother, and it was always better to act, however unsure you might be.

Afraid was good, he thought. Change requires fear, he knew this too.

This is what Helen has learned: it is possible to be so tired you cannot reach for the sky, you cannot breathe. You can’t even talk. You can’t pick up the phone. You can’t do a dish or dance or cook or do up your own zipper.

It has taken stealth and some underhandedness. It has taken clarity of purpose when the moment called for dreamy abandon. He has practised withdrawal.