Perhaps Edward would fly into my arms and she’d relent and say that blood was thicker than water and I could have him now. I would drive him off and we’d both live above Costas’s electrical shop. We wouldn’t be short of videos. We’d watch Back to the Future together; I’d felt foolish watching it on my own. We’d eat takeaway curries out of foil containers.

It was 3.30. Barry might be out at work. Edward would still be at school. Perhaps Lesley and I would get it all sorted out before they returned and we’d finalize the arrangements over hot buttered toast.

My palms were clammy; otherwise I felt quite okay. I thought, for the hundredth time: What was Edward like? Would he like me? The houses had thinned out and I was in the open countryside now. Would I like him? I hadn’t found a Graceland; I’d seen some other strange names but not that. In a country this flat, at least you could see where you were. The road was as straight as a ruler; down below, on each side, ran glinting ditches. Bare earth stretched out on either side, to the misty horizon. It seemed a depressing place to bring up a child.

Ahead was a row of cypress trees and one more building. I slowed down. It was a bungalow. Two old Cadillacs were parked outside. The sign said Graceland.

My heart raced. I drove a hundred yards further down the road and parked in a lay-by beside a bus stop. I put on my anorak, climbed down and sauntered back along the road, bending against the wind.

I heard the faint sound of a radio, but when I got to the bungalow I could see no sign of life. It was shabby. A chained dog barked at me, twice, then lay down again. I looked around. On one side was a garage; the music came from there. Another car stood in the garage, and when I moved nearer I could see a pair of legs underneath it.

I moved away, quickly. I didn’t want to meet Barry just yet. He was busy under the car; the radio was playing a loud Country and Western number and he couldn’t hear me. When you’d gone darlin’, sang the singer, my heart just lay down and di-i-ed.

I went up to the front door and rang the bell. A minute passed. I’m so blue-hoo went the song. Nothing happened. The dog thumped its tail.

Then, near me, somebody appeared at the window. I jumped. It was female, and wore a turban and dark glasses. She had bare shoulders, and a towel wrapped around her.

For a moment I stood there and stared. Then I mouthed hello. Lesley waved back in a friendly way—almost playful, wriggling each finger. She moved out of sight.

The song stopped. I glanced quickly towards the garage, but from here it was blocked by one of the Cadillacs. My heart moved into my throat, I prayed he hadn’t heard me. I needed to speak to her alone: after all, it really wasn’t his business. My mouth had dried up; never before had my heart beat so fast for her. Why had she looked so pleased? Hadn’t she recognized me?