I laughed. He was sweet. And amusing. Although we did, inevitably, talk about old people a lot. Or children. I asked about his and he beamed. One daughter was married to an accountant, the other about to wed a sex therapist, which he tried, but failed to roll his eyes about.

I grinned. ‘But she’s happy?’

‘Oh God, she seems to be on a permanent high,’ he muttered. Then he grimaced. ‘I really wish I hadn’t said that.’

I laughed and drank a glass of water for the road as he paid the bill. I’d sort of offered but knew there was no way, and he’d batted away my attempt good-naturedly.

We stood up to go and he helped me on with my coat. As we walked to the door, Dan said goodnight to the bar staff who seemed to know him well. They watched as they polished glasses distractedly, but with a fair degree of interest, as we left together. It seemed to me we’d just arrived. Time had flown. A good thing, of course.

The night air was crisp and clear and the sky velvety black and studded with stars as he walked me to my car. Suddenly I wished I was walking down the lanes with a torch, as he was. I’d do that next time, I thought, as he got his out of his coat pocket. Next time, eh, Lucy? Helena would be crowing. I smiled inwardly at the thought of her face. We kissed lightly on both cheeks and said goodnight, and he promised to be in touch again. And why not? We weren’t ancient, but we were old enough for things to move on, if they were going to – why hang about? I waved as he set off with his bright light, raising his hand as he went. No, I thought as I drove off down the lanes in the opposite direction, still smiling. Why not indeed move on?

18

The days went by. Two weeks, in fact, during which period I shepherded my parents to their respective minor operations, both one-day procedures, and both gratifyingly successful. Mum’s eyesight was a revelation, talk about the scales falling, and Dad’s hands, after they’d recovered from the post-operative effects, were warmer and much more mobile. His legs were healing nicely too, now that the antibiotics had kicked in, and since I’d insisted on the wearing of compression stockings daily. I’d had an email from Dr Gupta to that effect. When I wasn’t ministering to the aged Ps, I’d watch in awe as the builders made lightning work of renovating the cottage. The work on the roof was completed now, and they were getting to grips internally. As I popped in and out with cups of tea, I’d linger to chat with Jerry and admire their handiwork.