"Well," Sarah said, "you have to ask me a question. Or how else am I supposed to-"

"I've done nothing but ask questions for the past two hours!"

"You want to go over Bangkok again? Reminisce about the good times with Paul?" She mimicked him: " 'Careful now! Shush, or you'll scare away the birds!' "

"Don't do that. Don't. Okay?"

Sarah sighed, eyelashes fluttering. "Well, I suppose we were a bit rough on dear old Paulie. Both of us were," she said. "Still, a little hard to discuss Bangkok if I can't mention him."

"Fine. Tell me about New York, then."

"Well," Sarah answered, "quite devotedly of me, I traveled to that hovel you and Humph were sharing in Brooklyn, all just to see you. I came offering a job for you here in Italy, as you may recall. But you refused to hear me out. Sent me away in the most spiteful fashion."

"Be serious. You came to see Venn, not me."

"I was there to protect you," Sarah protested. "I knew things were going wrong."

"Not this again."

"If I was there purely for Venn, why did I never see him on that trip?"

"Because he wouldn't see you."

"Did you ever ask yourself why?"

"I know why-because you were unbearable to be with."

Surprisingly, Sarah failed to retaliate-no hissing fury, no venom. "Each time I turned up," she responded sadly, "wherever it was in the world, he always met with me. But not that time. I wasn't worth much anymore, I suppose."

"You're the only one who thinks in terms like that," Tooly said. "And don't claim you were so very concerned about my well-being. I shudder to imagine what would've happened if Venn hadn't been around when I was growing up. You, disappearing every other day for some personal freak-out, or whatever those were. You weren't looking after me. He was." That bank card, a reminder of their bond, in her pocket everywhere she'd traveled alone. "Has he not been in touch at all?"

"Let's get back to Humphrey. How is he?"

"I told you, he talks completely differently. There's clearly something I don't know here. And I think you do."

"All I know is that Humphrey was the great friend of your childhood. An utter darling!"

"Can you answer my question, please?"

"You should thank me for Humph. I always made sure he kept you company."

"Kept me company? Humphrey had nowhere else to go. I kept him company, if anything. He was a hanger-on." She thought of his reading material, little snacks on the Ping-Pong table. "Maybe that's not the right word, but I-"

"Very fond of you, Humphrey was," Sarah said. "He and I tried everything to help you. Even in New York, we tried. But you wouldn't come with me. You wanted things a certain way, and there was no shifting you. Just like always. Just like it was you who decided how things ended up with Paulie."

"We're not discussing him," Tooly reiterated. "Can we stick to the topic?"

"Oh, I'm sure Humphrey told you everything already."

"He told me nothing; that's why I came here."

"And how nice that you did! Having such a lovely time, Matilda."

"I'm not. You might be. I'm not."

"Give some thought to dinner. That restaurant is supposed to be fab."

"This is absurd." Tooly stood and fetched her bag. "I'm going back."

"I'll try not to look too gloomy," Sarah responded. "If I frown too much, I could get wrinkles one day. Keep your face in a state of permanent immobility-that's my advice. I try not to have any expression whatsoever. Which is easier when you're on your own."

Tooly boarded the next express for Rome. In the carriage, a group of ratty teenagers played music from a cellphone; a man clipped his fingernails. As the train prepared to depart, she glimpsed a fiftyish woman hobbling along the platform. It was Sarah, in fresh makeup, scrutinizing each window in turn, hoping to be spotted, and that her guest might rethink. She paused at Tooly's window. But without gla.s.ses she saw nothing, and continued past.

The train chugged into a pelting rainstorm, its hydraulic doors sighing open at each shabby station on the Roman periphery. Tooly repeated to herself that she'd been right to leave. Nothing to learn from Sarah, nothing owed to her. Yet the image remained: Sarah looking blindly at her. She'd be returning to the apartment now, probably soaked from the downpour, flicking on lights in the spare bedrooms, plumping the cushion on the kitchen chair, still indented from her departed guest.

Sarah had sculpted her own past so vigorously in the retelling that her memories had chipped loose from the events themselves, detaching her from others who'd also been there. It had never occurred to Tooly that dishonesty had the consequence of isolation.

Unfortunately, Sarah's isolation cut off Tooly, too: Who else was there to consult about that time? Was there any point in trying again with Humphrey? He might remember something. Even just a clue to what had happened. It was no surprise that he'd deteriorated this much, confined to that armchair, without conversation or reading. But she could rouse him-she'd always had that effect.

Tooly gazed out the rain-streaked window, drenched countryside rushing by. Returning to Wales was impossible now.

1988.

PAUL STOOD, then sat, then stood, then went to his room, then returned, and told her. His father, Burt, had pa.s.sed away. Paul knelt before the VCR, pressing b.u.t.tons. "I should have been there."

Tooly was unsure what to say. "If you try hitting Play and Record at the same time, that's what I-"

"I know how to operate a video machine."

The next morning, she got up two hours late for the microbus-Paul hadn't woken her. Nor had he turned on the air-conditioning in the living room, which was sweltering. The apartment had a strange desolation. She crept into his room, found a long lump in his bed.

He turned to face her.

"It's late on the bird clock," she whispered.

He nodded.

In the kitchen, the housekeeper, Sh.e.l.ly, was in a frantic state. "Everybody sleeping!" She asked if they would be at home all day-they hadn't warned her! She didn't have lunch supplies! It wasn't fair to do that!

Tooly climbed for the cereal boxes, poured a bowl for Paul, overfilling it with milk. She delivered it to his bedside, but he had no interest. "Don't you have your job today?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going?"

He stared at the ceiling.

"Can I pour cold water on you?"

"Why would you?"

"To wake you up."

He flipped over, giving her his back.

She opened his curtains, parting them in stages, as he did when waking her. Paul rose and went into the bathroom, stood before the medicine-cabinet mirror.

She clambered onto the closed toilet seat with a can of shaving cream and sprayed a white whoosh onto his face, then ran the safety razor down his cheek, as she'd seen in television commercials. But she did it too softly, drawing only a puff of foam, no stubble. She tried more firmly. A crimson dot of blood rose through the white. Terrified, she glimpsed his face in the mirror. "I didn't mean to," she said, and ran into her room.

He did not emerge that day. She tried reading in the living room, but couldn't finish a single page. She stood outside his door-she should do something, but didn't know what.

Mr. Priddles had once told her cla.s.s that, whenever they encountered problems at home, they should talk to him. The idea-him invading her life even more, glimpsing how things were here-outraged her nearly to tears. Why did she have to see him ever again? But there Mr. Priddles was, every single day, at the front of cla.s.s, smiling to himself as he cued up the music.

Later that week, the name Matilda Zylberberg boomed over the school speakers. Tooly leaped up from her desk. Even if she was in trouble again, she could at least waste some time slow-walking to the admin offices. When she arrived, someone awaited her.

"So sorry, darling."

Before Tooly could respond, the woman picked her up like a bundle and hugged her. "I completely forgot my things at home. You'll vouch for me, won't you? Or are you going to turn Mommy in to the authorities?"

Bewildered, she glanced at the woman, then at the receptionist, who responded with a smile. "You guys good to go?"

"Apologies for being such a ditz with the ID."

"No problemo. Just sign here, Mrs. Zylberberg."

"You're a gem," Sarah told the secretary, and led Tooly outside, pointing to the front gate.

Holding the girl's hand, she whispered, "I hate schools. They give me the creeps."

"Where are we going?" Tooly asked.

"Wherever you like, Matilda. Sorry I vanished-got so busy. But I've been aching to see you."

"I'm not allowed to leave."

"Is this a prison? Course you can go. What were you even doing that was so important?"

"The hypotenuse."

"Don't even know which subject that is!" She slipped on white Ray-Bans and offered her hand, bangles clinking. Uncertainly, Tooly took it. "I'm here to see if I like you," Sarah said. "But I have to say, I think I adore you already. I really do. Ready? Off we go!"

"I can't."

"You don't want to?"

"I ..."

A tuk-tuk waited outside the gates, engine belching, frame shuddering.

"I'm not supposed to get in those. They're dangerous." Paul had always said that. "Aren't they?"

"Not if I'm here. Come on, you!" She tickled Tooly's arm, making the girl giggle, then drew her into the cab, arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer along the vinyl seat. Sarah said something to the driver, squeezed the nine-year-old around the middle again, kissed her cheek. "What fun!"

"But I ..." Tooly began, her question drowned out as the vehicle tore into traffic.

"You know who I am," Sarah a.s.sured her. "You remember me."

They took a sharp turn, causing them to slide across the backseat, Sarah squashing Tooly, making them both laugh. The driver, Tooly noticed, had handlebars rather than a steering wheel-a tuk-tuk was just a motorcycle, it seemed, with a bench at the back and an awning above. Warm wind rushed at her face, row shops blurring past, b.u.mpy roadway disappearing beneath, jolting them up and down.

"Khao neow ma muang?" Sarah told the driver. "There was a place along here-I saw it before. Khao neow ma muang?"

He looped around, pulled over at a food stall, pointing.

"You're a marvel," she told him, folding a twenty-baht note into his hand and hoisting Tooly onto the sidewalk in one airborne hop. "Now this," Sarah said, "is the most gorgeous thing in the world. Have you tried it?"

"I don't know what it is."

"I woke up wanting khao neow ma muang and thought, I hope Matilda hasn't tried this, so I can be the one to introduce her to it. It's heaven. Better than heaven, since heaven probably drags on forever, which must get so boring. This is much perfecter."

"Perfecter?"

"Much more perfecter. Here." She twirled around, facing the food stall, raised her eyebrows at the Thai vendor, who smiled back. "Two, please."

"This girl in my cla.s.s," Tooly cautioned, "went to the hospital after eating cuttlefish on the street."

"Two times out of three, you don't die from street food. And this isn't cuttlefish." The vendor chopped a mango, scooped out sticky rice, drizzled it with coconut sauce, sprinkling toasted sesame seeds atop. "No need to worry about food poisoning-I'll probably eat all yours anyway."

The vendor handed the first serving down to Tooly, who held it, the heat of sticky rice warming the underside of the Styrofoam platter. "Mustn't be polite with me," Sarah said, rubbing Tooly's back encouragingly. "If I had mine first, I'd never wait for you."

Nevertheless, Tooly rested her plastic fork on the rice-Paul minded if she ate first. Finally, Sarah received hers and took a mouthful, eyes rolling to indicate euphoria. "Much better than heaven."

Tooly took a nibble: melting mango and coconut-scented sticky rice, slightly salted.

"You have to get the balance of mango to sticky rice right with each bite," Sarah counseled. "It's an art. Something my friend Humphrey taught me."

Tooly tasted a grain of the sweet rice. "You were outside my school bus that time."

"I was. Everywhere I go, I look for you. If I get lucky now and then, and you happen to be there, how nice!" Noticing Tooly struggling with a mango lump, Sarah jabbed it with her own fork. "Here."

Tooly bit it off.

"Listen, my favorite person"-to be addressed this way produced a surge in Tooly-"my favorite person, you have no idea how many people would love to meet you."

"Who would?"

"Everybody in the world who hasn't. You're just the best." She turned to the vendor, asking, "Isn't this the best girl you've seen in your life?"

The old woman clucked.