‘Or it can be something much bigger,’ I say, my mind running over all the possibilities. ‘Like a phone call from the doctor giving you the all-clear, or an email saying you got the job, or a hug from someone you love . . .’ My mind casts itself back and I think about Valentine and Gisele that day on the beach. ‘Just one good thing that changes the course of everything . . .’

Ben is listening, but he doesn’t say anything.

‘For me, that one good thing was Harry. He came into my life when I was so lost. He was the reason I got up in the morning, went out for a walk, met Valentine and Maya and Stanley . . . And I’m so grateful, because when I desperately needed one good thing, he was it.’ I break off, suddenly feeling self-conscious. ‘Does that make me sound crazy?’

‘No, not at all.’

Ben briefly takes his eyes off the road to glance across at me.

‘After Janet died, there were lots of dark days. Some days I didn’t want to carry on, if it hadn’t been for Stanley—’ His voice catches in his throat and he swallows hard. ‘He’s my one good thing.’

I nod and for a moment we both fall silent, watching the open road.

‘I have a question, though.’

I turn to look at Ben and he’s smiling.

‘Can you have more than one good thing?’

‘Are you flirting?’ I ask with mock-indignation, and he laughs and I feel the mood lighten, as outside the windows the Dales flash past, cloaked in darkness. ‘Yeah, and that’s what’s so brilliant,’ I nod, in answer to his question, ‘because once you have one good thing, you start to find more and more – it’s like a chain reaction.’ I pause and think of all the wonderful things that have happened since I first brought Harry home and then, remembering the phone call I was going to make, I glance down at my phone. ‘No service.’

‘Don’t worry, I texted Maya earlier when you were in the loo. She said everything was fine. Anyway, we’ll be home soon enough.’

‘We’ll get one pudding, two spoons,’ I suggest.

He looks horrified. ‘Crikey, steady on. I don’t know about that.’

I laugh and slip my phone back in my pocket. I’ve got that warm fuzziness inside that comes from feeling that, whatever’s happened in the past, all is now right in the world. I look across at Ben, who has both hands steady on the wheel, remembering when I first accepted that lift home. I glance at his chaos of receipts shoved between the dashboard and the windscreen. He’s made a valiant attempt at tidying up – the empty takeout cups and chocolate wrappers have been thrown away at least – but whereas the mess freaked me out the first time he gave me a lift, now I feel a strange affection for it.

I like that Ben doesn’t care about stuff like that. That he’s too busy caring about his son, and working hard, to give two hoots about what things look like on the outside. Because it’s what’s on the inside that matters. For so many years I gathered things neatly around me: the nice house and the happy marriage, and the good job with promotions. No chaos here. No messy emotions or drama and disorder stuffed into the dashboard of my life.