Although she almost craved time alone, she resolutely accepted all invitations. Later on she could decide whom she really wanted to spend time with and whom she didn’t, but she was keen not to get a reputation for being unfriendly. Her heart sank a bit when she was asked to join a book group, though. She’d enjoyed running the book group attached to the bookshop, but this might have been because she was usually the one who got to choose the books.

‘Oh well,’ she said now to Shona, who seemed to be the social engine of the community, ‘I’d love to come another time but I’m not sure I’d have time to read the book.’

‘Oh God, we don’t worry too much about that! At least, I don’t. Just come for the crack and the cake and the wine.’ She paused. ‘Crack is conversation, you know, I wouldn’t want you to think . . .’

Laura laughed. ‘It’s all right, I know that.’

‘Then come along. You can keep me company if you haven’t read the book. We can ask pertinent questions – or at least you can.’ Shona paused again. ‘You can tell I’m trying to convince you that we do actually talk about the book, at least for part of the time.’

‘I wouldn’t like to come if I haven’t read it, but what is it?’ She didn’t like to say she’d read most of the books groups tended to choose. ‘I used to work in a bookshop so I’ve read a lot.’

‘That’s why we want you to come!’ said Shona cheerfully. ‘And the book is The Willows by—’

Laura’s heart had started to race before Shona had got halfway through the title of Dermot’s second book. ‘I – I have read that,’ she managed after a few dry-mouthed seconds. Typical. She was reminded of him at every turn.

‘Oh well then, that’s grand. You must come. You probably understand all that highbrow stuff. It was Jocasta’s choice. She likes all that literary fiction. I prefer a good raunchy read myself.’

Laura didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. To hear Dermot’s great work described as ‘highbrow stuff’ was partly satisfying: he might have caused her much heartache, but she did think it was one of the greatest books of the current time and she wanted to defend it. But could she bear to sit and listen while people declared they ‘couldn’t get through it’ and ‘felt it was a bit obscure’? She’d never chosen his work for her own book group, it was too special and personal to her. And that had been before she’d met the man and fallen in love with him.

‘What night is it you meet?’

‘It’s the second Wednesday of the month. It’s usually the first one, but we missed it. Someone had a fortieth.’