‘Don’t be daft.’ Evie rolled her eyes at me. ‘You can move in with me.’

I told her that I’d like that very much and then as we’d all finished our drinks, I nipped off to the bar to get another round in. When I returned, Dad was tucking into his pudding with gusto.

‘Look at the two of us,’ said Evie with a sigh, accepting a second drink from me. ‘Spending Friday night with our dad, single again at our age. What a pair of saddos. I wonder what Mum would think of us.’

‘Oi,’ said Dad through a mouthful of crumble, waving his spoon at her. ‘You make me sound like the consolation prize.’

‘Not at all,’ I said, wiping up the blobs of custard he’d dripped on the table. ‘And above all Mum would just want us to be happy, whether we were single or not.’

‘Of course she would. Like me.’ Dad scraped the bowl clean. ‘Single and happy.’

I shot Evie a knowing look. We’d suggested various women to him over the years, but he’d never been interested. I thought about Vicky earlier at the crematorium who’d had a second chance at love; perhaps it was simply a case of meeting the right person at the right time?

‘I met a lovely lady today,’ I said. ‘She was a bit younger than you, Dad.’

‘Single?’ Evie asked, nodding unsubtly at him.

I shook my head. ‘She’s met someone. But she had been part of an unhappy couple. Actually, she gave me the push I needed to leave Harvey. She said that this time around she was going to make every moment count.’

‘To making every moment count, good on her,’ said Dad, raising his glass. ‘You never know, perhaps I’ll meet a sultry senorita in Spain.’

‘Or a foxy frau in Frankfurt,’ Evie put in.

‘If you did,’ I said more seriously, ‘that would be all right with us, wouldn’t it, Evie?’

‘Absolutely. You deserve to be happy, Dad,’ she agreed.

He set down his glass and leaned in closer. ‘See that chap with the thin blond hair at the corner table over there near the fruit machine?’

We looked round to see who he meant.

‘What about him?’ Evie asked.

‘Laurie, his name is. Had three wives and as for girlfriends – I think even he’s lost count of how many he’s had; he’s always got a different woman on his arm. Now this spot just here.’ He pointed to his left bicep. ‘That was where your mum tucked her arm. Never the right. We’d walk with our hands clasped together, tucked into the big pocket of my Barbour coat. Snug as bugs. It wouldn’t feel right having someone else on that arm. Like her side of the bed. I still look across some mornings and expect to see her.’