When it was Fran’s turn to talk her brain was so overwhelmed all she managed to impart in the first thirty seconds was, ‘My name is Geraldine. I’m fifty-one and I live alone.’ She racked her brain for something suitably angsty that she could share with him but the truth was that, aside from Jenna’s disappearance, she was perfectly content with her life. Her official story, her reason for being on the retreat, was that she was a widow unable to move on after the death of her husband but how was she supposed to talk about that at length? She’d had boyfriends in the past – the very distant past, as her last relationship ended when she was thirty-five – but none of them had ever broken her heart. Rather she’d only ever felt a vague sense of frustration when a relationship ended, that she’d given them her time and her company for what end? Some sexual fumbling, lacklustre intercourse and the occasional conversation that piqued her interest. There was only one boyfriend that she occasionally reminisced about – Gunnar Saevarsson, a fellow student at Cambridge University. He was Icelandic, the tallest man she had ever met, and astonishingly clever. Fran idolised him – she found his straightforwardness and lack of tact refreshing – but was pretty sure that his interest in her was almost solely intellectual. They would have the most fascinating discussions, sitting cross legged on his single bed, and when he did eventually lunge in for a kiss no one was more surprised than Fran. Then, when they had sex, the most incredible transformation occurred. Any self-restraint Gunnar may have shown in the day was thrown out of the window, along with Fran’s knickers. Afterwards, as he lay curled around her, sticky with sweat and breathing heavily, his hand rested on her belly. When he gave it a little squeeze and said, ‘No more beer for you!’ she laughed with joy. It was so wonderful, meeting someone so like her. If he’d been the one with a fleshy little pot belly she’d have said something very similar. Their affair continued for seven happy months until Gunnar decided that Fran was distracting him from his studies and if he didn’t achieve a first he’d never forgive himself. Fran agreed to the split. She’d found herself fantasising in the library about their sexual liaisons rather than actively studying her books and she knew she wasn’t performing at her academic best. They parted with a hug and a smile but it took a while until the pang in her heart finally faded away.