Yet he had managed that first step beyond the rawness of grief. He was living somewhere that had no associations with her. She’d been on the boat only once, when it had been moored in another city, and it wasn’t a visit that had left a trail of happy memories. He wasn’t beset by images of her everywhere he looked; this was his domain, and that made getting along without her a little easier.

The second step was accepting that it was over. Whatever name you wanted to give what had existed between them, it was done. There might have been a way back to their easy companionship and affection if she’d returned after a short break and been willing to draw a line under what had happened. Hard though that would have been, it would have at least privileged the living over the dead. Something he always advocated with his patients. Now he had to practise what he preached.

Tony trudged on, paying no attention to his surroundings except to look up at road junctions so he could check his directions. When he walked like this, it acted like the release of a brake on thoughts and emotions. He could brace himself and be stern, tell himself he had to stop hankering for what he’d lost and accept that it was gone. There was no point in wistful yearning. It wasn’t going to happen.

He wasn’t there yet, he knew. But wanting to get there was half the battle. Then he could take the final step and, as the sort of therapist he despised would say, move on. Accept that chapter of his life was closed and give it a new shape. Believe that there were people out there who could fill the spaces in his life and in his heart.

Yeah, right.

It was going to take a few more sessions with Jacob before he could convince himself that life after Carol Jordan was somehow going to be magically better than it had been before the slow build of their relationship. The truth was, she was the only woman he’d ever dropped his defences for. She knew his dark places. She’d even survived his mother. How likely was it that he’d find another like her?

‘Stop it.’ His voice was as loud as a parade-ground command. It startled two teenagers minding their own business in a bus shelter, but he was oblivious to them. Luckily, he’d reached the main road in time to break his chain of thought. The supermarket was only a couple of hundred yards away and he began to rehearse his shopping list. ‘Pasta, cereal, nice bread. Maybe some ham or salami. Tomatoes, that would be good.’