Even lovelier than he remembered, that full, textured voice, the slight Cockney inflection. Smiling, he puts his suitcase on the bottom stair and hangs his coat over the blue ball next to the yellow one, on which Gloria’s russet coat hangs as usual. No other coats.

‘Happy New Year to you too!’ he replies. ‘Kettle on?’

‘For you? Always.’

He smooths his hair and walks down the busy brown carpet towards the stippled glass of the kitchen door. Pushing it open, he thinks of his resolve to be bolder.

‘Hello, favourite Finch.’

‘Better not tell my parents that!’ she bats back, grinning too as he stands in the doorway.

There’s rock and roll coming from the transistor radio and there’s a plate of mince pies on the counter. It’s warm and cosy and Gloria is smiling her most lovely smile at him. But his has disappeared and he’s not even looking at her, or the pair of scissors in her one hand and the comb in the other. He’s looking at the man sitting on the chair that’s normally in the dining room, with a white towel round his neck, smattered with black semi-circles of cut, wet hair.

‘Ray! What are you doing here?’

Remaining very still as Gloria takes the scissors to his head, laying her free hand on the bare nape of his neck, Ray replies, ‘What does it look like? I’m getting a haircut.’

Sitting on the counter, almost enjoying the scorch of hot tea down his throat, William watches Gloria carefully wipe the hairs from Ray’s neck.

‘There you go. Smart as the best of them, Ray. No one can have a go at you now.’ She looks over at William. ‘You should give them what for, William.’

Fury bubbles in his chest, but he keeps his face blank. ‘Who?’

‘Those miserable buggers on your course who told Ray to get a haircut.’

‘Maybe they were trying to help,’ he replies, looking at Ray. ‘Everyone wants you to do well, you know that, Ray.’

‘Well, I think it’s rude,’ says Gloria, taking the broom from the cupboard and making decisive sweeps across the lino, gathering Ray’s hair into a silky wet pile at her lovely feet.

William slides down from the counter and takes the dustpan and brush from the cupboard under the sink. He kneels before Gloria, sweeps up the hair and tips it in the bin. Ray jerks upright. ‘Oh, I was going to send a lock to my mum!’ He winks at William.

‘Help yourself.’ William gestures at the bin.

‘Anyway, William,’ Gloria says, bright and breezy, ‘how was your Christmas?’

‘Good, thanks.’ He hops back up on the counter, determined to look at home. ‘I helped in the mortuary a lot.’

Ray laughs, and William could kiss Gloria when she says, ‘Good for you, I bet your uncle loved having you back.’