‘Yes, but sometimes I . . . Sometimes I wasn’t.’ And now there was a fearful edge in her voice, an anxious glance at Lorna before her gaze dropped away.

Lorna knew that face of regret, because she had worn the same one herself, she had felt those exact feelings. All the things she could have done for him and hadn’t, it tortured her even now. She’d been meaning to paint Aidan’s bedroom for weeks when he died, but had put it off and put if off for one reason or another – until it was too late and he was gone. She’d always promised she’d take him to Wimbledon one summer – they were both big tennis fans – but again, she’d never quite managed to sort out tickets, and he’d died without ever seeing a match. She could go on.

‘Oh gosh, but nobody is nice around the clock, darling,’ she told Olivia now. ‘When I think about the times I told him off for coming in late, or nagged him about tidying his room, or was impatient with him . . . I could cut my tongue out for them. I wish I had been more patient and understanding, of course I do. I would give anything to have him back, and I’d never complain about a single thing he did, ever again! But . . .’ She spread her hands. ‘It’s called being human, isn’t it? That’s just how we all are. We get frustrated and snappy with other people. Poor Roy, the things he has to put up with – the man’s a saint for sticking with me sometimes. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love him any less. Like you always loved Aidan! He knew that.’

Olivia nodded but didn’t say anything, just clutched the mug of tea with both hands and took a sip. Lorna found herself looking at those ringless fingers and felt sorry for her. ‘It’s a shame you never met anyone else,’ she blurted out. ‘I guess he was a hard act to follow, though.’ Gratitude swelled inside her at Olivia’s loyalty. Her devotion! If Aidan could only see how much he had meant to this girl.

But Olivia was frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean . . .’ Lorna felt bad for jumping to conclusions, Roy was always telling her off for it, but she couldn’t help another glance at the other woman’s bare hands. ‘I take it you aren’t married. Is there a boyfriend, though, or anyone special?’

‘Oh,’ said Olivia. She put her mug down and her hands vanished under the table. ‘I . . . Actually, I am married. I’m married with two little boys.’ Her voice was getting lower with every word. ‘But I’ve kind of messed everything up.’