Was it perhaps that same evening that I opened my laptop to find I had an email advertising a conference in Finland at which Clara was giving the keynote speech? It had been a long time since I had left the country, perhaps never. All the same I could recall places that I had been, or other people, a woman seen from a train window in Denmark, in Norway a pile of burning tyres, places where night proceeds into night and day into day, an airport. Once the rain stopped, the evenings went on and on, glistening violet evenings. A strict ordering of the heart.