The evening wore on in a convivial manner, with much joking and banter. Not from me, but nobody seemed to notice, and I felt more restored. I was still in disarray but I began to feel a little less wild. I’d get there. I knew early mornings and last thing at night would be bad. That all sorts of doubts and worries, not least about my own sanity, which I was now convinced Turner had been about to mention, would come flooding back. But this was miles better than that awful police station. That freezing stop in the lane. That concerned look on the waitress’s face in the bistro. That terrifying museum. This was home.

Eventually, Dan stood up and said he had to go. Had to get his mother before the Pattersons rang him and demanded her immediate withdrawal, informing him they’d locked the drinks cupboard. Forbidding my parents to get up – although Dad wasn’t having that and rose slowly from his chair – he thanked my mother for supper. Said he’d had a lovely evening. I walked him to the door.

‘It was lovely to see you,’ he told me, slightly shyly. ‘I felt a bit bereft when I left you in the hospital, yesterday.’

I remembered him standing at the end of the corridor. ‘You did look a bit forlorn.’

He looked surprised and I realized I shouldn’t have said it. That good manners precluded me from saying ego-denting things like that. I wasn’t quite functioning properly. Wasn’t quite picking up the social nuances. ‘It was lovely to see you too,’ I added quickly, and realized I meant it. This capable, kindly man soothed me, I decided. But I did need to be on my own, right now.

He recovered his equilibrium. ‘Is the pub too predictable, or shall we venture into Oxford? London even? Live a little?’

‘Not Oxford,’ I said quickly. ‘Or London. And actually, I love the pub.’

He smiled. ‘Let’s do that, then. Tuesday?’

‘Tuesday it is.’

We could hear my parents clattering about in the kitchen, and to my relief, Dan didn’t move towards me. I certainly wasn’t up for that. Instead, he turned and made his way, which showed a level of sensitivity. As I shut the front door, though, I realized he’d looked very pleased as he went to his car. There was a spring in his step: renewed vigour. A sense of second chance about him. And I was pleased too, I decided. I went back into the sitting room, arms folded consideringly across my chest. Let’s face it, he was a lovely man.

My father was stacking the dishwasher, forbidding Mum to help, as I went through into the kitchen. They turned as I came in. Their faces were open and expectant.

‘Jolly decent, isn’t he?’ said Dad, faux innocently.

‘Jolly.’ I smiled, and bent to blow out the candles.