We made our way on down the dry earth channels left by the winter rain. The hill road that led down to the campsite was in view before he looked back again. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said.

Lola was sitting outside, drinking coffee and yawning. Her legs and arms were silky brown and above the neckline of her T-shirt I could see the white lines left by her bikini straps. ‘Where have you two been?’

‘Jack will tell you.’

‘You’ll never guess.’

Lola looked fondly at him while he spilled out the story, and I sat and listened and watched the two of them.

It had been a good holiday, surprisingly good. Even if we hadn’t followed the nuclear families’ pattern of picnics and barbecues and ball games.

FOURTEEN

‘What are you afraid of, exactly?’

Mr Rainbird and I were sitting in the Italian restaurant, at the same table as before. As we took our places I was already thinking of it as ours, even though we had been here together exactly twice. We had been talking about our separate past lives, lightly enough but with that undercurrent of comparison and recognition that means you are probing for common ground, terra firma on which something new but solid might be constructed.

‘You have a fortified air. As though the drawbridge is permanently up.’

As I considered the idea I felt tired, and I knew it was from the effort of preserving my independence and security. This meant, of course, that I was always fearful of the opposites, as Mr Rainbird had correctly guessed.

Ted had never been dependable, nor had he made our joint lives secure.

‘Against all invaders?’ I chose to be flippant because I was disconcerted by his acuity. He knew I was being evasive. ‘That’s how it appears, yes.’

‘Are you a marauding party?’

‘Given half a chance, I would be.’