in the morning light her kayak's steadily gliding towards the island, towards him and towards her new self, on and on, seeming with each moment to get closer and the light reflecting off the water in petals, then in sheets, brighter  and brighter till she can hardly see the island at all. 

'until the relationship is a problem...', Freud said, he remembers, well, now he's come down from  the garden to the waterfront, the letters in his hands - they're unanswerable, all of them, and if he's honest he's had some of them for years without answering them. this isn't the problem. the problem is that someone is coming, reaching unfathomably forward and his eyes are now closing against the flashing light, getting smaller in his face to keep it out. the earth that the jetty's rooted in is something of a relief - he will rest his eyes there now, he'll use his paws and dig a shelter....