And excited was something I hadn’t felt since the accident. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d had a profound crush on someone. The family dog; Brad Pitt; Pierce Brosnan; the boy in the village shop with floppy hair and a devastating smile; Mr Simons the music master, who closed his eyes when he played the violin; and then a real boy, called Chris, who’d taken me to the pub a few times, a friend of Helena’s. And then, after that – nothing. For years. Just an empty space and a glaring white light thereafter. It was as if that side of my head had died, with Liam Stephens, in the crash. Chris I didn’t see again, despite his entreaties, his phone calls, and at university, as we know, the white light and the empty space persisted. However much I tried, I never felt a thing. And previously, even with Brad and Pierce, it was not just a crush, but true love. These people would consume me. I’d make up stories about them, about how I’d save them, perhaps, from an accident – ironic, obviously – or become best friends with their sisters. So that even when I was alone, I never felt I was. Even if I was sewing, or walking the dog, I always had my love. I never felt lonely. But now, when I was on my own, I did.

Something about Michael, though, made my heart peek out a little from the shadows: made me curious, despite myself, to look. Call it animal magnetism, which sounds rather brutish, or sexual attraction, which isn’t much better, but whatever it was, within moments we were walking right through the garden and out of the gate.

‘Hang on.’ I came to. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Just to the shop. I need some cigarettes. Walk with me? Tell me, what are you doing with that boring young man?’

‘Paul’s not boring, he’s sweet. He just doesn’t wear his charisma on his sleeve like some people. He’d probably feel it was attention-seeking.’

His eyes lit up in delight and he suppressed a smile. ‘For someone you met five minutes ago, you seem to know an awful lot about him.’

‘I try to be perceptive, particularly when I’m asked out to a party. I find it helps.’

‘He looks like a bank clerk to me. One of Eliot’s thousands pouring over London Bridge.’

‘Nice to see you wear your learning so lightly, too. Are you one of those people who litters their conversation with literary allusions to put others at a disadvantage? Or are you just showing off?’

This time he threw back his head and laughed outright. ‘Definitely showing off.’