Her arms tighten and she lets out a noise, untamed, that makes him laugh.

‘I’ve wanted to do this for so long.’ She lifts his head to look him in the eye. ‘Thank you, William.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, picking her up into a fireman’s lift and starting up the stairs. ‘We’ve got two hours.’ Her slipper slides off and bumps down to the hallway.

47

‘Thank God I brought the brolly.’ Gloria looks through the mercury rain streaming diagonally across the window as the train slows into Cambridge.

‘It never seemed to stop raining in winter.’ William rests his hand on her knee. ‘Our cloaks got so heavy, it made my shoulders ache.’

Gloria tilts her head and smiles. ‘Poor little William.’

He squeezes her knee, making her yelp. They step onto the platform laughing, holding hands, and William lets himself hope they’ll have a good time.

They drop their bags at the B&B first. It was a long shot, but he asked directory enquiries for the number of the guesthouse on Tenison Road that Mr and Mrs Mussey stayed in, always preferring to make a weekend of it even though they could only see Martin for two hours on the Sunday. As Gloria sits and bounces on the bed, running her fingers over the lilac candlewick cover, William wonders if the Musseys ever slept in this room, on this mattress. He tries not to think of Martin.

It’s cold for March. The little heater in the corner of the room clatters into life and they eat their sandwiches sitting on the bed. Afterwards, he puts his arm round her and rests his chin on her head, breathes in the smell of her hair. ‘Plenty of time before evensong,’ he says, pulling her down to lie next to him.

‘Not enough for what you want.’ She laughs, and they lie holding each other for a few minutes. When she sits up, pulls a comb from her bag and tugs it through her mane of hair, William watches, hands behind his head, smiling. She quickly puts her soap bag next to the sink, and the box of sandwiches she made for tonight on the mantelpiece.

‘Come on then. Let’s visit your old haunts.’ She glances at the travel clock she’s set up on the spindly bedside table. ‘How long till evensong?’

‘Ages.’

It has stopped raining. The sun silvers the tarmac, pavement and trees as they walk. Avoiding puddles, they turn right onto Station Road, passing huge houses with generous driveways and oak trees. Instead of turning right onto Hills Road towards town, William scoops up Gloria’s hand.

‘We’ve got time for a wander round the Botanic Gardens.’

‘Did you go there a lot?’ Gloria follows him across the road.

‘Quite a lot,’ he says.