As he walked down a little terraced street towards the main road, the sort where the houses had all been converted into flats, he was distracted by a car with conspicuous L-plates turning too quickly into the road and screeching to a halt a touch too wide of the kerb. The couple in the car, a slim woman and a tall man, got out swiftly and banged the doors, and Ricky, sure that they had been arguing, hung back under a plane tree, not wanting to be the unwilling witness to a scene. Instead, he was embarrassed to find a very different kind of scene taking place, with the couple colliding into a passionate embrace on the pavement, kissing ardently and unreservedly on the apparently empty street. The woman’s back was to him, but there was something disconcertingly familiar about the cut of her hair. ‘I’m so late, I’ve really got to go,’ said the woman regretfully.

‘Not right now, just stay a little bit. We’ve only just got back,’ said the man, looking at her adoringly, smoothing her hair back from her face.

‘Yes, right now,’ said the woman firmly, unhappily. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll be missed.’

’You’re right, you will be. Tu me manques déjà ,’ said the man. ‘See, my French really is improving.’ He still hadn’t let her go.

’More than could be said for my driving,’ said the woman. She turned and walked swiftly away, and then turned and walked back just as decisively to kiss him again. The man held her face between his hands, and brushed his lips tenderly to her forehead.

‘Go on with you,’ he said gently. ‘You’re right, you’ll be missed.’ He watched her retreating back, and then shaking his head with a rueful smile, took the L-plates off the car and let himself into his flat.