It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. John was ecstatic to hear that she had made the coveted first chair position in Orchestra. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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