Strangely the first thing she thinks of is the art gallery in her old town. The one she went to with him, early on, all nervous smiles and nervous silences, and the exhibit they wandered through. Dodging car parts suspended on strings at eye and hand and knee level, laying bare the mechanisms of a car in mid-air. It is as though someone has walked into that memory; into her life and cut those strings. Everything crashing to the floor.