A look passed between them.

‘That doesn’t apply only to me, you know,’ he added.

‘I know.’ Olivia shrugged, averting her eyes and opening a packet of small narcissus bulbs. She shook them into the palm of her hand. They were like little silver pearls.

‘So how come you’re going to the dance with an old bugger like me then?’ he continued. ‘Why don’t you have a nice fella to take you?’

‘I’ve got a nice fella,’ she teased, winking at him.

‘You know what I mean. What happened to your builder, Ben? He seemed to have taken a shine to you when I was last round your house.’

She looked self-conscious then. ‘He’s been busy, what with repairing the damage from the fire, and work – we both have . . . anyway, he’s just a friend.’ Grabbing the gardening fork, she began raking the soil industriously. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Right then, that’s the last one planted. How about a cup of tea?’

Along with everyone in the village, Valentine had been shocked by the fire. Thankfully, everyone got out safely and there was no harm done – nothing the insurance couldn’t fix anyhow. At least that’s what he thought. He watched Olivia stand up, brushing the soil from her knees, and her distracted expression before she caught him looking and forced a bright smile. He wasn’t so sure now.

‘Only if I make it,’ he nodded, raising himself stiffly to his feet and wondering if he should try those yoga classes at the village hall that Olivia had been telling him about. After all, he needed to get fit for all that dancing he was going to be doing. ‘None of that teabag stuff.’

The central heating in the bungalow felt toasty and warm after being outside and, removing his layers, he went into the kitchen to start brewing the tea. Olivia joined him, reaching for the tray on top of the cabinets and getting out cups and saucers. She was taller than him, so she didn’t need the little stepladder, and she knew where everything was now. As she reached for the cutlery drawer, he felt a reassuring companionship that comes from someone else knowing where you keep your teaspoons.

She was just putting them on the saucers when there was a chirping noise. It sounded like a cricket.

‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, it’s my phone. It’s to say I’ve got a new email.’

‘Well, I never.’ Valentine watched as she pulled it out of her pocket and tapped the screen.

‘You know, we should get you a smartphone, Valentine – you’d love it.’

‘I’ve got a mobile phone.’

‘Which you never turn on. Plus it’s about a hundred years old.’

Choosing not to hear her, he reached for a canister of loose-leaf tea. All these newfangled gadgets. He couldn’t understand the obsession. They only lasted two minutes before you had to buy a brand-new one. ‘Upgrade’ – that’s what the sales assistant had called it, when he’d popped into the phone shop in town to see about a new battery, only to be told they didn’t make them for that model any more. ‘Daylight robbery’ more like. Now tea: that had been around for thousands of years and the practice was still the same as it always was.