He wasn’t mistaken; the men are down and outs, hanging around Gloria. Her voice carries on the spring breeze. Her bold, London voice. She’s talking to a tall man, not scruffy like the others, with his back to William. He’s close enough now to smell the acrid, pungent odour of the tramps. Gloria spots him; he’s relieved to see she smiles.

‘He brings me all the way to Cambridge for evensong and at the last minute he buggers off’ – he knows this is for his benefit – ‘does a bleedin’ runner.’

‘Abandonment withstanding,’ a cultured voice booms from the broad body that stands between him and Gloria, ‘did you enjoy it?’

‘It was beautiful,’ she says, glancing over the man’s shoulder at William. ‘I don’t need my dopey husband to tell me that.’ A gust of wind folds Gloria’s hair across her face. She laughs and pulls it back.

She’s looking at William, but he’s no longer thinking about telling her how sorry he is in that moment of eye contact. He’s no longer wondering about the men in dirty coats and tattered shoes. He reaches up and rests his hands on the broad shoulders, on the soft tweed. He feels his face split by a smile as the figure turns.

The man is startled. He looks back at Gloria before turning again to William, and then his wide, creased brow smooths. He laughs and his long arms reach out.

‘William!’

Engulfed in a tight hug, William laughs too. ‘Martin.’

William and Gloria sit at a table tucked in a corner of the crowded Eagle pub.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Gloria sips her shandy, her eyes bright and excited, as if she’s just met her own long-lost friend. She’s put her bag on the spare seat and William has put Martin’s requested pint of bitter on the table. She leans into him. ‘I was all set to give you the silent treatment, but your faces when you saw each other!’ She takes another sip, puts her glass down, and covers his hand with hers.

He shrugs. ‘When I first realised it was him, it was just …’ He pauses. ‘Just joy! But now I can’t stop thinking about what I did to him.’ Tell them, William. Those tear-filled eyes.

‘It didn’t look as if that was his first memory, did it?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘How long did he say he’d be?’

‘He just said he’d meet us here once he’d said goodbye to those men. He can’t have thought he’d be long, or he wouldn’t have asked us to get his drink.’ He takes another gulp of whisky. ‘Did you notice them in the chapel?’