I helped her with the washing-up. She told me she was going to mince the leftover lamb and make us a moussaka.

I dried a cup and said: ‘Really, I should be pushing off.’

She swung round, ‘But what about lunch?’

I said she had been awfully kind, but I couldn’t impose on her hospitality any longer. I ought to pop off and settle this little business matter with Lesley, wherever she lived.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hilda.

I nearly dropped the cup. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know where she’s gone.’

I stared at her. ‘But she must have left a forwarding address.’

‘She didn’t get many letters.’ She pulled out the plug; with a gargle, the water drained away. ‘She wasn’t close to her parents, I don’t even know where they live, and she didn’t have many friends.’ She sniffed. ‘She could at least have told me, but she wasn’t terribly considerate.’

After a moment I asked: ‘But what about school and everything?’

‘She took Edward out at half-term. I know she was going through a crisis, but still. She could have phoned.’

I stood there, rooted to the kitchen floor. I felt a wave of bitterness against everybody—even Hilda’s stout backside, in its tweed skirt. I was being sucked down the old hole of exhaustion. I glared at her Greetings from the Algarve tea-towel—fancy bothering to frame it!

I croaked, loudly: ‘You can’t even bloody well get in touch with her?’

‘Don’t!’ She turned round; her face had reddened. ‘Don’t shout!’

We glared at each other. In the next room the cuckoo-clock struck.

She said: ‘Even if I did know, I jolly well wouldn’t tell you. Not if you speak to me like that.’

I shuffled towards her, a step. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘I do understand,’ she said. ‘I’m not a complete ninny.’

I should have explained then, but I didn’t. I just said: ‘It’s not like that.’

‘Actually, I think it’s ever so romantic.’ She turned away and started rubbing the draining board with a sponge. ‘Searching for her through thick and thin, in your great big chariot. Did you ever see A Man and a Woman, with the windscreen wipers going, and him driving through the night to get to her, oh it was lovely, remember that music, da, da, da, da-da-da-da-da da da da-da-da …’ The hum died away. She scrubbed, vigorously.

‘I told you, Hilda,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t care less about Lesley.’ My voice rose. ‘I don’t even like her much! I hardly know her!’