‘Ah.’ I couldn’t tell whether he was relieved at this news. ‘What will he think about me taking you out like this? Does he know?’

I liked the way he chose to bring this up immediately. I had been asking myself the same question and the answer was almost certainly horrified. ‘No, not yet. But I’ll tell him all about it tomorrow.’

Mr Rainbird nodded. ‘I’ll hope for a good report, then.’

We drove to the local multiplex in his car, a green Morris Minor estate complete with timbered sides. I admired it and he grinned.

‘It belonged to my dad. He was going to sell it, but I wouldn’t let him. I swapped him my Honda in the end, just to keep his in the family. I’m not very interested in cars, I just like this one.’

‘So do I. Is your dad still alive? What did he do?’

‘Yeah, he is. He was a teacher, too. Physics. And my mum taught home economics. It was DS, domestic science, in those days.’

‘I remember.’

‘She died last year. I miss her, but not as much as he does. They were married for fifty years and they were always each other’s best friend. I remember you telling me that Jack’s grandfather died last term. Was that your father?’

‘Yes.’

He waited, but when I didn’t volunteer anything he didn’t press me any further. We negotiated a skirl of traffic at the roundabout and failed to overtake a bus that greedily straddled the outside edge of the bus lane.

‘Not much power under her bonnet,’ Mr Rainbird said fondly.

I enjoyed not being the driver and therefore not having to search for a parking space once we reached the cinema. I sat comfortably in my seat instead, and gazed at the late shoppers coming into the car park with their Debenhams and Dixons bags.

There was a choice of three films and rather than the Mel Gibson war epic or the family special effects movie we settled unanimously on the starry adaptation of a Booker prizewinning novel. Mr Rainbird bought the tickets and I judged that it would be inappropriate to offer to pay for my own. We rejected popcorn, also unanimously, and settled into our seats. I often went to the cinema with Lola and Jack, or with Mel and it felt different to be sitting with my arm almost touching Mr Rainbird’s.

I liked the film, but I couldn’t have answered many questions about it afterwards. I was smiling as we walked out at the end with all the other couples, blinking slightly in the glare of lights and threading our way through the press of people waiting for the next screening.

Mr Rainbird lightly touched my elbow. ‘I thought we might eat at Casa Flore?’

This was an excellent choice, our neighbourhood non-pretentious old-fashioned Italian restaurant. Even Mel approved of it.