attention to the inherent redundancy of her question. "You okay?"
  "I⦠yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's been a long time, Ellen."
  The sound of her voice took me right back, to a time several months after my body had recovered from the injuries I'd sustained during the accident. Ellen Lang had been a GP back then, and it was mostly because of her that I managed to find the will to carry on. She believed me when I told her about seeing dead people, and her advice was simple and direct: just keep going, don't look back and never look down.
  But even before that Ellen and I had a shared history. I'd known her since I was seventeen years old, and in the early months of my marriage to Rebecca, when I was too young and far too stupid to realise the damage I was doing, Ellen and I had slept together. We both regretted the transgression, and it had never happened again, but the bond between us, instead of weakening, had grown stronger, culminating in her becoming my saviour when I needed one.
  "I didn't even know you were back in the country. Isn't NASA missing you?"
  She laughed then, and everything seemed fine for an exquisite moment, as if nothing else in the world mattered more than the sound of this woman's laughter. I recalled as if it were yesterday the image of her bare legs, the shape of her naked thighs, the way she'd whispered nonsensically in my ear as she came.
  "I'm on extended leave. Family business."
  Fearing that I might fall, I lowered myself into an armchair and just about managed to focus on what she was saying. "Nothing serious, I hope."
  Another pause, but this one was pregnant with possibilities. I knew that this wasn't a social call â she'd had plenty of opportunities for that since moving to America. No, she wanted my help. She wanted my help and I was more than willing to give it.
  "Whatever it is, Ellen, the answer is yes. I owe you far more than anything you could ever ask."
  She coughed softly and I realised that she was probably trying not to cry. "Have you seen the news?"
  "Some. I've been busy. A lot has changed since I last saw you. As I'm sure things have changed for you." I paused, allowing her to move the conversation forward at her own pace.
  "Could we meet? Have dinner, perhaps? I know it's been a long time, and I realise that I'm asking a lot here, but I really need to see you. A lot of it is to do with this family business I mentioned, but also I want to see you. I haven't thought of you for ages, but as soon as the plane landed at Heathrow I pictured your face, even started scanning the crowd in case you'd caught wind of my arrival. I was disappointed when you didn't turn up to meet me. Stupid of me, eh?"
  Rebecca was the love of my life, but like most men I'd also loved others. I would have died for my wife, but I would kill for Ellen Lang. The depth and nature of my feelings had always confused me; she had always been second best, and she knew it, but I had never been able to shake off the effects of her presence â or the wonderful, deeply torturous memory of that one night, long ago, that we had spent together.
  I felt guilty even speaking to Ellen. My entire life was constructed around the vague hope â the yearning â that one day I might see the ghosts of my wife and daughter, yet here I was having dirty thoughts about a woman from my past. It didn't make sense. Nothing added up. But then I reminded myself that I was still human, despite my unique ability, and human beings are flawed and self-destructive. No matter how tense or tricky the situation we find ourselves in, we can always manufacture a way to make things worse.
  "If I'd known that you were coming I might have done just that. You're my oldest friend, and we haven't spoken in such a long time. I think that probably warrants some kind of ostentatious gesture."
  "I'm sorry that I cut you
  "I⦠yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's been a long time, Ellen."
  The sound of her voice took me right back, to a time several months after my body had recovered from the injuries I'd sustained during the accident. Ellen Lang had been a GP back then, and it was mostly because of her that I managed to find the will to carry on. She believed me when I told her about seeing dead people, and her advice was simple and direct: just keep going, don't look back and never look down.
  But even before that Ellen and I had a shared history. I'd known her since I was seventeen years old, and in the early months of my marriage to Rebecca, when I was too young and far too stupid to realise the damage I was doing, Ellen and I had slept together. We both regretted the transgression, and it had never happened again, but the bond between us, instead of weakening, had grown stronger, culminating in her becoming my saviour when I needed one.
  "I didn't even know you were back in the country. Isn't NASA missing you?"
  She laughed then, and everything seemed fine for an exquisite moment, as if nothing else in the world mattered more than the sound of this woman's laughter. I recalled as if it were yesterday the image of her bare legs, the shape of her naked thighs, the way she'd whispered nonsensically in my ear as she came.
  "I'm on extended leave. Family business."
  Fearing that I might fall, I lowered myself into an armchair and just about managed to focus on what she was saying. "Nothing serious, I hope."
  Another pause, but this one was pregnant with possibilities. I knew that this wasn't a social call â she'd had plenty of opportunities for that since moving to America. No, she wanted my help. She wanted my help and I was more than willing to give it.
  "Whatever it is, Ellen, the answer is yes. I owe you far more than anything you could ever ask."
  She coughed softly and I realised that she was probably trying not to cry. "Have you seen the news?"
  "Some. I've been busy. A lot has changed since I last saw you. As I'm sure things have changed for you." I paused, allowing her to move the conversation forward at her own pace.
  "Could we meet? Have dinner, perhaps? I know it's been a long time, and I realise that I'm asking a lot here, but I really need to see you. A lot of it is to do with this family business I mentioned, but also I want to see you. I haven't thought of you for ages, but as soon as the plane landed at Heathrow I pictured your face, even started scanning the crowd in case you'd caught wind of my arrival. I was disappointed when you didn't turn up to meet me. Stupid of me, eh?"
  Rebecca was the love of my life, but like most men I'd also loved others. I would have died for my wife, but I would kill for Ellen Lang. The depth and nature of my feelings had always confused me; she had always been second best, and she knew it, but I had never been able to shake off the effects of her presence â or the wonderful, deeply torturous memory of that one night, long ago, that we had spent together.
  I felt guilty even speaking to Ellen. My entire life was constructed around the vague hope â the yearning â that one day I might see the ghosts of my wife and daughter, yet here I was having dirty thoughts about a woman from my past. It didn't make sense. Nothing added up. But then I reminded myself that I was still human, despite my unique ability, and human beings are flawed and self-destructive. No matter how tense or tricky the situation we find ourselves in, we can always manufacture a way to make things worse.
  "If I'd known that you were coming I might have done just that. You're my oldest friend, and we haven't spoken in such a long time. I think that probably warrants some kind of ostentatious gesture."
  "I'm sorry that I cut you
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