At least he’s not on the run at the mercy of the weather, and the Cornish spring is breathtaking. He walks among the nodding bluebells and pink sea thrift and kills the part inside him that aches for his parents. He wants to miss them, guilt-free, but he can’t stomach what they stand behind. They’ve chosen a path of destruction, and disgust creeps on him as the ivy twines around tree trunks.