That had been only four days ago, and yet in some ways it felt like a lifetime—a happy lifetime. Since she’d closed the shop and the primary school had broken up for the holiday, Olivia and Simon had been free to spend every moment together, and they just about had, revelling in each other’s company in an entirely new and wonderful way.

After decorating the tree, Simon had stayed for dinner. Olivia had cooked this time: chicken marsala and angel hair pasta that they washed down with a bottle of red wine.

Then they’d watched a film on the telly, snuggled up on the sofa, and he’d finally left for home after a lingering good-night kiss in the darkened shop.

The next day they’d gone Christmas shopping in Oxford, strolling hand in hand down Cornmarket Street, rating the ornate window displays from one to ten, and then finishing with a leisurely, intimate dinner at the romantic No. 1 Ship Street, sharing a plate of plump oysters over candlelight.

Yesterday, on the twenty-third, Olivia had gone to see her mum, and Simon had half-jokingly invited himself along. He’d seemed surprised and pleased when Olivia had taken him at his word, though was concerned that he’d be infringing on her time with Tina; but her mum had been delighted and when Simon revealed that he knew how to play bridge, they’d spent several happy hours playing, taking turns with the fourth person’s hand.

Olivia hadn’t seen her mother looking so animated and lively in a long time, and although she had a few small memory blips, she still managed to come out ahead, finishing the afternoon with a magnificent three no trump bid.

“Your mum still seems sharp as a tack,” Simon remarked as they headed back to Wychwood, after sharing a takeaway curry with Tina. Simon liked mushroom dopiaza, just as she did, which felt like another small but important sign of their serendipitous synchronicity.

“Sometimes she really does,” Olivia agreed. “Other times...” She sighed, looking out at the darkened blur of sheep pasture as Simon drove down the A40 towards home. “She has another, more involved cognitive test on the twenty-eighth, at a memory clinic in Witney. I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it, strangely.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Is it?” Olivia shook her head. “If I could make this all go away, I would, in a heartbeat, but since I can’t, I’m starting to feel a diagnosis might be a good thing. Mum certainly thinks so, although she’s already made up her own mind about it, anyway.”

“Diagnoses are good things,” Simon said seriously. “Knowing what’s wrong with you, being able to get the proper help and medication...” He hesitated. “That’s really valuable.” Olivia turned to gaze at him uncertainly; it seemed as if they weren’t talking about her mum anymore.

“That’s what Mum believes, anyway,” she said after a moment. “It’s the first, necessary step.”

“Will you be okay...taking her to the appointment? I know it’s not easy...”