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Silvana walked towards the chaise, her eyes fixed on the roll of carved mahogany at its back. With numb fingers she traced the smooth shine of wet wood and pitted woodworm, black circles against the white crystals of ice that clung to its outline. Dusting off layers of snow, she sat down. Aurek leaned against the red velvet. He put his mouth against it and tasted the colour on his tongue. Silvana bent forwards and lifted him onto her lap, where he whimpered, curling tightly into her. She leaned her head back. It felt good to be giving up. To know she wasn’t going to have to walk any further.

It wouldn’t take long for the cold to crackle through her. For the glacial sleep to come. Aurek’s body, normally as insubstantial as the powder snow that drifted in the wind, began to feel heavy against her. This way, she reasoned as she let go of consciousness, they would be together for ever. She and the child. She whispered to him, explained how sorry she was to fail him. Twice she said it. Two sorrows, banked up against her, cold as the snow.

Janusz

When his skin began to peel in dry white flakes, Janusz dozed in a shaded barn, the scent of thyme, sage, rosemary hot in his nostrils. Gradually he felt stronger, his skin healed and he began to help Hélène water the animals, collect eggs. They worked quietly together. She showed him how to milk the goats and stack the hay in the barn. Their hands touched as Hélène passed him eggs.

‘How old are you?’ she asked one morning.

He had wanted to ask her the same question but hadn’t wanted to be rude.

‘I’m twenty-four,’ she said. ‘Vingt-quatre. Here, catch!’ She threw an egg in the air and he caught it. ‘Bravo!’ she cried and threw him another.

‘Twenty-four years old and my mother worries I am too old to find a husband. She thinks I’ll be an old maid all my life.’

‘And you, what do you think?’

‘I think I’m waiting for the right man to come along. Here, catch!’

The egg hit him on the chest and broke in his hands.

She took a twist of hay and wiped his shirt clean.

‘Take it off,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash it for you.’ She reached out to unbutton it and he backed away, feeling foolish.

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, and walked out of the barn.

She came back to find him hanging his shirt up to dry in the sun. He saw her watching him, leaning against the barn door, her arms folded, a smile playing on her lips.

‘Hey, soldat. If you’ve finished being a washerwoman, I want to show you something.’

She led him into the barn, shooed the roosting chickens away and pulled a tarpaulin off a red car covered in dust. She untied her apron and wiped it over the bonnet, revealing shiny paintwork.

‘Whose is this?’ He ran a hand over it, tried not to think of how he wanted to take Hélène in his arms. Tried not to look into her eyes.

‘It’s Pascal’s. My brother. It doesn’t work. He came back from Marseilles with it a week before he joined up.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Normandy. He’s the reason you’re here. Madam Agut, who runs the boarding house where you were staying, is a friend of his.’

Janusz could smell Hélène’s soap, the heat of her skin. He lifted the bonnet and peered inside. The spark plugs were probably worn. He pulled one out and held it up to the light. Hélène took it from him.

‘Kiss me.’

She put her hand on the back of his neck and pressed against him. He pushed her away.

‘I’m married.’

He was an idiot to say it, but the words tumbled out. A defence against his own desperate desire to tell her he loved the sight of her, the sound of her.

‘So where is your wife?’

‘Back in Poland.’

‘Exactly.’

She kissed him and he felt warmed through, as if he hadn’t known until that moment how much coldness still dwelled in his body. He tried to speak, to make her see sense.

‘I’m not … This is all I can give you. And I have to leave soon.’

‘So we should be together, while we can.’ She kissed him again. ‘We only live one life. How can you let this pass?’

And he couldn’t.

She slipped off her dress and pulled his head down, cramming a