‘Bugger my job,’ she said, buttoning up her coat. ‘Bugger the Gas Board.’

She made us a thermos of coffee; she packed up the flapjacks into a Tupperware box and bound it with stout elastic bands.

‘You got a radio?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got to keep you awake.’

It was such a relief, to be taken in hand. Why had no woman ever done this before? ‘Got any cassettes?’ I asked.

‘Have I got cassettes? he asks. Of course I’ve got cassettes.’ She went to the shelves and pulled out a handful. ‘Come on,’ she said, putting them into a carrier bag.

At just past midnight, we slipped out of the flat.

Eighteen

Eighteen

Hilda had brought her knitting. Click-click went her needles; it’s a lovely sound. She sat in the front seat, across the aisle.

‘I was bored anyway,’ she said. ‘Stuck in a rut.’ She disentangled Ricky Nelson and slotted in a cassette. ‘Oklahoma,’ she said. ‘I adore show music.’

‘My wife said I was stuck in a rut. My music used to drive her round the bend.’

‘Bit of a fuddy-duddy, were you?’ she asked.

‘No! It’s just that they don’t sing them like they used to.’

‘That’s what I meant.’

‘What?’

‘A fuddy-duddy.’

I glared at her. ‘Whose side are you on?’

We drove along the M4. It was dark and empty. Oh, What a Beautiful Morning played. I was glad Hilda was there.

I said: ‘I thought we’d have these big Greek get-togethers, me and her family. You know, kebabs and dancing and stuff. But we never did. She liked dancing but not that sort. We never went to Greece either. She preferred Spain. Once we went to these self-catering apartments, near Benidorm, for our holidays. The sort of places where you buy your own Com Flakes. She started flirting with this bloke called Alan. He used to work-out, and every morning she’d be up bright and early—she never used to get up early at home, you had to crowbar her out of bed—and I’d look down from the balcony and there I’d see her yellow towel, laid out on the lounger next to his, beside the pool. And she suddenly got helpful about the shopping—she usually hated shopping—and she’d offer to go to the supermarket and she’d be away hours. I’d look down and there would be his lounger, empty too, and his blue towel beside it. And then she’d come back and all she’d bought was a packet of tea bags.