Russell had opted for life with his dog. A life on the fringe. He’d become an observer, a spectator, watching others play the game. And Maura, in her marriage had been doing exactly the same. She’d also transformed herself into a spectator, watching other people’s marriages, watching the actions of men who belonged to other women.

She’d never withdrawn to the extent of Russell, though, she’d gone out into the world and taken the men she wanted. She’d lived. In a way.

And then she’d seen Russell and come and taken him, and that day and the days that had followed it had been days in which both of them had ceased to be spectators, except of each other. And of themselves.

He’d never see her again. That much was clear. He’d hear her voice. In fact he’d never stop hearing her voice, the things she had whispered in his ear. Even in this place, in this cell, her voice was here, murmuring away in the background. When he closed his eyes he could feel her lips close to his ear.

Whispering love, whispering the sounds of love.

There were long periods between his sessions with Superintendent Rossiter, and in those long periods Russell kept his eyes closed. He rocked to the sound of Maura’s voice, felt his body grow warm and pliable as it filled itself with the certainty that she was still here. Only occasionally did he open his eyes to confront the blue walls and the blue ceiling and the tangible silences of eternity.

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