I wait.

Fifteen minutes later I’m still waiting when a van slows down. I step back, so as not to get splashed by the large puddle of water that has formed next to the kerb.

The window rolls down and the driver leans across the steering wheel.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ he calls out cheerfully.

‘Excuse me?’

‘The bus only runs once a day to Nettlewick, and you’ve missed it.’

‘Once a day?’

For a moment I think he’s joking, then I look at the timetable behind the scratched plastic. Sure enough, he’s telling the truth. I let the reality sink in for a moment, along with the rain into my sodden trainers. I wriggle my toes. They squelch against the fabric.

‘OK, well, thanks for letting me know.’ With frozen fingers, I dig my phone out of my pocket. ‘I’ll call an Uber.’

The driver laughs. ‘I take it you’re not from round these parts then?’

Opening the app, I go to book a car . . . only there aren’t any. Of course. I’m forgetting where I am. I look up from my screen to see the van still there, with the engine running.

‘Hop in, I’ll give you a lift,’ offers the driver. ‘I’m going that way.’

I waver at the thought of getting a lift from a complete stranger, but it’s pouring down, I’m cold and tired, and I can hardly walk the ten miles home with my shopping.

I reach for the door handle. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, thank you.’

The dashboard is stuffed full of rubbish. Old receipts. Parking tickets. Coffee cups. Chocolate wrappers. Sitting in the passenger seat, I let my eyes sweep across the detritus to try and get a better look at the driver. He looks about my age, but it’s hard to tell. Between his beanie, which he’s pulled down over his ears, and his beard, I can only see a narrow, rectangular letter box of face. His eyes are crinkled around the edges and he has one of those noses with a bump that looks like it was broken once. I once read somewhere that men’s noses and ears keep growing, the older they get, but it looks a fairly decent size, so no clues there.

‘I didn’t know rain was forecast,’ I say, as we continue out of town, the windscreen wipers on full speed.

‘This is Yorkshire. Don’t you know we’ve got webbed feet?’

His accent is strong and he glances across at me, his mouth twisting up in amusement. He’s wearing a thick checked flannel shirt, the sleeves of which are turned up to reveal tattooed forearms.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’ I find myself smiling. ‘I think it’s rained pretty much every day since I moved here.’

‘Don’t worry, we get a few weeks off in summer for good behaviour.’

Despite being soaked through, I can’t help but laugh.

‘So what brings you to these parts? Apart from the glorious weather, of course.’

Indicating right at the roundabout, we leave the town behind and head out into open countryside.