‘So, there’s still hope for me yet?’ Esther joked.

Henry smiled. ‘What about your Solomon? Was he your soulmate?’

Esther sipped her prosecco. ‘I met my Solomon when I was seventeen. I thought he was a god and I worshipped him. We married when I was nineteen and I learned that he was just a man. A man who never ironed a shirt in his life, left the toilet seat up and grew hair out of his nose. Maybe I should have tried out a few more prospective husbands before I skipped down the aisle. Who knows? But Solomon was a good man who worked hard and loved his family. It wasn’t all hearts and flowers but what relationship is? We survived forty-seven years as husband and wife without killing each other, and if I could have him back for a single day I would.’ Esther drained her glass. ‘But just the one day, mind.’

Henry refreshed their drinks. ‘And what about you, Imelda? Did you ever think about marriage or having kids?’

‘I thought you might have married that boat salesman,’ Esther volunteered. ‘The one with the deep voice and the Aston Martin.’

Imelda shook her head. ‘God no! He was a pleasant enough companion for a while, but he ironed his socks. And his underpants!’

‘What about that coroner chap? He was nice. You went out with him for quite a while. Edward, wasn’t it?’

‘Edmund. Yes, he was a fascinating man, but not very physical.’

‘Or Laurence the firefighter. He looked very physical to me,’ Esther teased.

‘Well, it certainly sounds as though you’ve had possibilities,’ Henry offered tactfully. ‘I think we need another bottle before we delve any further.’ He soon returned to the table with more prosecco.

‘I’m not sure if I ever really wanted to get married,’ Imelda began. ‘My parents’ relationship was extraordinary. They were very different people and sometimes I think they found being together really tough. They loved each other until they died, but more than that they remained in love. Their passion never faded into comfortable companionship. If I had ever contemplated marriage, theirs would have been my blueprint. And I’m not sure any man could have lived up to such high expectations.’

Esther was three glasses of prosecco down by now and asked a question that she had always wanted to but had never found the chutzpah to until now.

‘Not even with Cillian?’

‘You don’t have to answer that,’ Henry added quickly. Protectively.

‘No, of course not,’ Esther agreed. ‘But I was just wondering . . .’ Imelda had told her about Cillian years ago, but Esther always had the impression that Imelda had omitted some crucial detail.