So I’ve decided: from now on, I’m going to try my hardest to follow Harry’s example and start living in the moment. To stop beating myself up with the endless ‘what if’s and ‘if only’s, and all the other regrets that haunt me.

And I’m going to start by calling Ajay.

The Village Idiots

‘No-Brainers?’

There are groans around the table.

‘I thought that was funny,’ protests Ajay, reappearing from the bar with a round of drinks.

‘Too corny,’ Maya tuts dismissively. ‘How about “Nettlewick’s Got Talent”?’

‘Only if I get to be Simon Cowell,’ he laughs, putting down the drinks and crisps and sliding onto the stool next to me. ‘You get the golden buzzer.’ He winks and I feel myself blush.

Reaching for my pint of cider it suddenly comes to me. ‘Hang on, I’ve got it! The “Not So Great Expectations”!’

I feel a beat of triumph. Though I say it myself, that’s actually really good.

‘Huh? I don’t get it.’

Ripping open a packet of cheese and onion crisps, Maya wrinkles up her nose. It makes the stud in her nose twinkle.

‘Charles Dickens!’ I admonish, shooting her a look. She looks suitably sheepish, as she should for an English Literature A-level student.

‘No, too literary.’ Ajay shakes his head and takes a sip of his wine.

I glance across at him, rather miffed by his betrayal, and drink my cider.

We all fall silent.

It had been my idea to get a team together for the pub quiz. Ever since the landlord of the Crooked Billet had mentioned it at Easter, it had sounded like fun, and what better way to meet more people and get involved in the local community? Plus Valentine seemed energized by the project. Every time I walked past his window or dropped Harry off, he would appear from his bungalow with a leather-bound volume of the British Encyclopedia and reel off some fact or figure. I’ve never seen him so enthused.

‘I bet you didn’t know that, did you?’ he would declare, before regaling me again with the story of how, when he and Gisele first married, they saved up each month and sent away for each illustrated volume until, over the course of several years, they had collected the complete set. ‘Everything you’ll ever want to know is in here,’ he would say proudly. And I would say ‘Wow!’ and look impressed and resolve never to tell him about Wikipedia or Google.

Our only problem was our lack of team members. Normally never one to brag, Valentine threw his modesty out of the window and assured me that when it came to general knowledge, he couldn’t be beaten. ‘One advantage of being an old bugger like me is I’ve lived through a fair amount of history and politics . . . and it’s all up here,’ he added, tapping his temple with his large forefinger. Valentine, I must mention, has the biggest hands I’ve ever seen. Literally the size of shovels. Apparently they’re the reason for his boxing success when he was younger. ‘I was never that good,’ he admitted, ‘it was just hard to miss my opponents.’