Harry leaned forward, rocking with the train’s motion, his disfigured face close to the window. The sun beat in through the dusty glass, making him squint. Miles rattled past. The country grew more stark and desolate. One or two people boarded or left the train at each remote station. Nobody bothered him. He wouldn’t let them. He kept his back turned and his eyes on the future. There was maybe a place for him, damaged as he was.
Surely he wasn’t alive for nothing.
Today would tell. Harry tended not to reflect on his own losses, past or future. He squared his shoulders and pretended he could go on, whatever. He went on, whatever. He didn’t look deep inside. Today might end his aching loneliness, or it might just end all his pretence, all his possibility. If Nora didn’t want him, then … We
