Together they shied away from their fear and horror, their pain and remorse.

We have quite a lot in common, Matilda thought wryly as she chose a lettuce, pulled spring onions and radishes.

‘How tall are you?’

‘Why?’

‘Clothes.’

‘Oh, six foot one or two if I hold myself straight.’

‘If you’ve finished eating you had better come up and change your clothes. I’ll burn yours.’

‘Why? I’m not so desperately dirty.’

‘It isn’t the dirt, it’s the description. All England, all Europe for that matter, knows you are wearing blue socks, suede shoes, fawn corduroy trousers, a check shirt, red and white, a red scarf round your neck and that you wear your watch on your right wrist.’

‘How exact.’ Hugh took off his watch. ‘There’s a sunburn mark.’

‘We’ll rub in shoe polish. Come on.’

Touching Tom’s clothes Matilda felt detached. A year ago she could not have opened his cupboard or chest of drawers without gulps of hysteria. Now she picked out a white T-shirt, a blue pullover, pants, jeans, and handed them to Hugh. ‘Try his shoes for size.’ She pointed to a row of shoes. ‘Give me your clothes.’

Hugh changed, dropping his clothes onto the floor while Matilda stood looking out of the window.

‘How do I look?’

‘Changed.’ She eyed him carefully. ‘Tom was very dark. He was thin like you.’

‘I think I’ve lost weight on the run.’

‘I daresay. Here’s his watch. Put it on. It’s a cheap Ingersoll, goes like a bomb and tells you the date.’ She strapped it round his left wrist.

‘What shall we do with mine?’

‘I’ll put it in the bowl in the hall. It’s full of unwanted stuff, anything small and broken. We’ll hide it under the world’s nose.’

‘How much nose does the world put in your door?’

‘Very little. I can’t help the occasional person. Nobody comes regularly. Tom and I put people off. They got the message and left us alone.’

‘And when he died?’

‘One needn’t encourage people. Everyone comes to the funeral, then they leave you alone.’

‘The children?’

‘They have husbands or lovers. They came once or twice dutifully. I could see my grief bored them. Mothers are not supposed to be in love with your father – there’s something indecent about it. They adore love and sex for themselves but for parents it’s unnatural.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you?’

‘Well, yes, I do. I’m not your child.’

‘You could be if –’

‘Only if you’d been a child bride.’

‘You flatter me. Actually Tom and I never stopped squabbling in front of the children so they thought my grief hypocritical.’

‘Quarrels are often an indication of love.’

‘Tell that to Louise, Mark, Anabel and Claud.’ Matilda picked up Hugh’s discarded clothes. ‘Found any shoes that fit?’

‘These sneakers are fine but my feet are bigger than his.’