That old, broad smile. It turned out that we had followed strangely similar paths. While I found refuge in academic economics, she went to Italy for a...year, and then started working in the Economist offices in Washington. Became a full-time card-carrying journalist, doing technical editing. ‘Yes, but your poetry?’ I asked, ‘And did you finish your novel? I’ve often looked for it, but didn’t know the name you would use.’ ‘No’, she said, ‘I haven’t been able to do anything like that since we. I also noticed my uncle kept looking at me and I was convinced it was because of my boobs, which in truth you could hardly detect. He also kept sitting very close, we had always got on, as he was very funny and great with me and my s****rs, but he would now always sit next to me when he could and was always messing about and tickling me. Then one day, as we sat on the sofa together and everyone else was in another room, he put his arm round me, which wasn’t unusual, but he was looking at me. More

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