‘Josh wanted chapter and verse on the shepherd’s hut, that’s all.’

‘Hardly! I just didn’t expect to be ambushed by it!’

‘Ambushed?’ asked Ned.

‘A rake fell out and caught him,’ I said smoothly, aware I was behaving rather badly but unsure why. ‘And I’m terribly sorry,’ I added stiffly. ‘It was my fault. It’s too full.’

‘Not at all,’ came back an equally stiff rejoinder.

Ned sighed and drained his coffee, none the wiser.

‘Yes, well, you might want to empty it, Mum, before you go. I’ll give you a hand, if you like. And fascinating though this slice-of-life drama is, I feel I must be getting on my way. I have a funeral to conduct.’

Josh glanced at him, alert. ‘You’re a vicar?’

‘I am.’

‘How interesting. I often wonder if I should have liked that.’

Ned and I both blinked at him in surprise. Joshua Cohen was not a name to automatically suggest an Anglican vocation.

‘For the other team, obviously. A rabbi. Or a doctor, perhaps. But there we are. The decisions we make early in life do rather constrict us, don’t they?’ He looked rueful.

Ned smiled. ‘Not necessarily. I only became a vicar a few years ago. Changed horses in mid-stream.’

‘Oh? What were you before?’

‘A hedge fund manager. Bye, Mum.’ He pecked my cheek. ‘Don’t see me out, I’ll manage.’

‘Oh no, I’ll come down.’ I hastened after him to the door. When I’d opened it for him and we were out of earshot on the step, I muttered: ‘God. Rude, isn’t he? Typical Parisian. He’s clearly been there too long.’

‘I rather liked him,’ he said consideringly, glancing back beyond me down the hall. ‘At least he says what he thinks.’ He turned back to me. ‘Anyway, don’t forget the thrust of my little mission here today, hmm?’

‘What was that?’ I genuinely had forgotten.

He eyed me kindly. ‘To do things for yourself. To stop worrying about other people.’

‘Oh. That. Yes, of course I will,’ I lied.

He gave me a funny, sad smile, and then he sauntered off down the steps to the street. I watched him go, his thin shoulders hunched in his leather jacket against the chill wind.

When I went back to the kitchen, Josh was turning up the collar on his own coat. ‘I must be off. I’ll be in touch. I’ve got one more to see in Prothero Road, but I might not bother. When do you want to move out, incidentally? I mean, if I decide to take it?’

‘Oh, I’m ready to go now. I’m going home, you see.’

He frowned. ‘Home?’

‘I mean, to my parents. For a bit,’ I added, in case that looked sad.

‘Oh, OK.’ He couldn’t look less interested, actually. ‘Well, I’ll be in touch. Via the estate agent, of course.’