SOMETIME THAT SPRING S ometime that spring, during the period when I was writing my thesis, I got into the habit of walking down to the harbour every day after lunch. I would sit and smoke on a bench there, watching the sailing crowd as they came in and went ashore to buy provisions on the quay. When the weather was fine I would take off my coat to enjoy the sunshine on my arms. Mostly though it was cloudy, at least that’s how I remember it. One of the last times I went there, a woman sat down beside me. I took her to be a tourist; I’d certainly never seen her before. She leaned across and asked me for a light, I handed her a box of matches, which she kept. We sat smoking as we looked out on the harbour. A couple came with their small boy to feed the seagulls, but the boy wouldn’t let go of the bread he was holding, the seagulls wheeled above his head. Then the father held the boy’s arms tight behind his back, the mother prised the bread from his hands and tossed it into the water.…