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halt. A small tremor of panic ran over her as she realised that she could not remember any more. The shock of receiving the poem seemed to have driven it right out of her memory.

twenty-three
    SHONEN FORGOT TO water her plants for several weeks, being too upset by the general state of her life to care for them. They all died, despite a strenuous last-ditch campaign to turn things round with food, water, love and attention.
    Another disaster, she thought, and it ran easily through her mind that it was no wonder that a person with bulimia should be incapable of looking after plants. Dying plants was only one manifestation of the complete inability she felt to do anything at all.
    Shonen’s compulsive eating and vomiting was worsening under pressure. The clerk at the social security had just warned her about coming in late to sign on. It would be two days before she got her next girocheque and she had no money whatsoever. In total desperation she had even looked around the shelves of job opportunities at the jobcentre but there were no jobs there. If there had been, Shonen would not have felt well enough to take one, or even to apply.
    Her theatre group had just failed to win a grant from the Arts Council. Their projected autumn tour was now cancelled and there was talk of disbanding. At this moment Shonen should be sorting through her directory of organisations which gave grants and making ready a list to present to her fellow performers, but it seemed like
too much trouble. The overwhelming probability was that no one would give them any money. They would be unable to carry on.
    Shonen had always wanted to participate in a small theatre group which was run by the performers themselves. She was surprised that the ambition of a lifetime could evaporate so quickly.
    Having an irresistible urge to eat she filled herself up with apples. She was not particularly fond of apples but as they contained relatively few calories it made her feel not quite so bad inside to be eating them.
    Still, it made her feel bad enough to vomit them up right afterwards, and as she stood by the toilet, flushing it rather sadly, it occurred to her that her life was really not going very well. For someone of only twenty-three she seemed already to have amassed many problems.
    The phone rang. It was Elfish bearing news.
    â€œShonen, I was right. The woman in the house next door does work as a professional fund-raiser for the theatre. As I said, she owes me a favour for saving her cat from a tree. And, by a lucky chance, she is a particular fan of physical theatre. She says she’ll help you get your group back on the rails.”
    Shonen felt transformed by this small ray of sunshine. In common with the rest of the world she was eager to grasp at any straw which might rehabilitate her dreams. Consequently she failed to reflect that the chances of there being a professional theatrical fund-raiser living next door to Elfish were slim, and the likelihood of Elfish having climbed a tree to save her cat was zero.
    The prospect of a revival in her theatrical fortunes revived her spirits entirely. She went first to her pile of sponsorship forms which she sorted into some sort of order, and next to the trunk where she kept all her old texts from drama school. Down near the bottom she
found a copy of Romeo and Juliet. Helping Elfish with the speech did not now seem so difficult.
    Back in Aran’s flat, Aran was frowning at his sister.
    â€œDoes it make you feel at all bad, lying to people like that?” he asked, as Elfish put his phone down.
    â€œNot at all,” said Elfish. “I had to tell Shonen something positive or she’d never get up the energy to help me.”
    â€œWhat about when she discovers you’re lying?”
    Elfish shrugged.
    â€œWell, by then I’ll have what I want, so who cares? And I really need Shonen’s help now because I’ve forgotten the speech.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’ve