He had considered doing what Mary had done. He had brought the wand to his head, willing himself to do it, to utter the spell that would make it all go away. But each time he would fall flat, he would remember something good, something he wanted to keep, and the wand would fall from his hand, clattering on the wooden floor. He would stand up, drink either a cup of tea or a bottle of vodka, depending on which year you were on about, and he would get on with his life.