He heard her breathing, imagined her flowery fresh fragrance. She felt very close, as if he could have put his finger on the cross-hatch of the receiver and been able to feel her bold, soft lips.

‘William’ – her assured voice was back – ‘I love you too. If you don’t know that by now, you’re a world class idiot.’ He couldn’t help but smile. ‘I have a suggestion. Is that allowed?’

‘It won’t change anything.’

‘Couldn’t we, after all that’s happened, just enjoy being in love? Not having to pretend we’re not? Don’t you think we deserve a bit of happiness? We’re young. We can worry about children later.’

‘No!’ He trampled the bubble of joy in his throat. ‘You can’t marry me thinking I’ll change – I won’t. And you want children.’

‘No, William!’ She sounded angry. ‘It’s you I want, you!’

And in the silence that followed, with the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his soles, he dared to believe she was right and let himself fall into her gorgeous, naive love. They were married six months later.

▪ ▪ ▪

As Gloria rifles through the basket of varnishes the morning after the nightmare, the familiar chunk and rumble of small glass bottles draws a smile from William.

‘This one all right? She holds up a pearlised pink.

‘Yep. Give it your best, she was a beautician. It’s the first thing her daughter will look at.’

‘What’s her name again?’

‘Barbara.’

‘Come on then, Barb.’ Gloria takes the left hand in hers. ‘Let’s get you gorgeous.’

Saturday mornings are William’s favourite. With Robert and Howard playing golf, he and Gloria have the house to themselves. They take time over a cooked breakfast. Gloria tells stories from the hospital where she’s now a psychiatric nurse, often putting a funny spin on things that couldn’t have been much fun at the time. Their best times have always been chatting in a kitchen, with hot drinks and comforting food.

Occasionally, after breakfast, he’ll have a weekend embalming to do. He’s let off washing up then and, once Gloria’s finished in the kitchen, she comes through to help with the cosmetology.

‘I wonder what’ll happen to her business.’ Gloria gives Barbara’s hand a rub before she starts filing the nails.

‘Her daughter ran it with her.’ William sprays the mortuary table with disinfectant. ‘They both lived above the shop. I suppose she’ll just carry on.’

‘Same set-up as us.’ Gloria blows the dust from the filed nails and hooks the fingers over the side of the coffin.

William leans against the wall and watches her. She hasn’t put her own make-up on yet, and her face is pleasantly pale and stark. My wife, he thinks.

‘Do you mind us still living here?’ he asks.