He decided against Solomon Street: he didn’t wish to arrive with a torn and flapping trouser leg. He would go home and entertain Helen with the small incidents of his afternoon, he would check his ankle, perhaps he would dig out the exercise equipment from the garage and work out for a while. He’d read somewhere that as former sportsmen age they tended to neglect upper-body strength.

The exercise equipment remained undisturbed, but over the evening meal of ham and salad, with a caramel steam pudding to follow, Pearly did talk with Helen about his visits to Philip and the Prendergasts. The pudding may have been out of season, but it was one of Pearly’s favourites. ‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ Helen said, referring to Rob’s illness rather than Philip’s decision or Pearly’s ankle scratch, which she had treated earlier. ‘So many good people getting sick.’

‘Wasn’t there something about Jill and a policeman?’

‘That was years ago. And even if she did, what business is it of anyone else?’

‘I was just saying,’ said Pearly.

‘You always have a long memory for people’s sexual history.’

‘What nonsense. I don’t at all.’ His tone was emphatic, yet it was true that salacious detail was easily retained. While talking to Jill Prendergast earlier that afternoon he had briefly imagined her as a younger woman with her policeman, how her short hair would flop from her face when she was lying on her back, her large ears flush, her eyelids flutter in obedience to the law.

‘Anyway, now we know that Philip’s definitely going for mayor,’ he said.

‘I don’t think you should let that bother you. It’s more about what you think needs to be done, and whether you want to do it, rather than if you’d get back in or not. And you can stand both as mayor and a councillor.’

‘I don’t think I would,’ said Pearly. ‘That’s a step back. No, mayor or nothing. The port project’s the thing, really. I’ve given a hell of a lot of time driving that, and it’s important to the district. I’d really like to see that through.’ He was aware of the comfort and familiarity of his surroundings: the white tablecloth and glasses of pinot noir though there were just the two of them, the new pale carpet in the dining room that he had initially considered unnecessary, but come to appreciate, the russet of the departing sun on the small, spreading shrubs of Helen’s garden. Her company most of all, still the choice he would make after many years, despite occasional times of opposition, or distance, in their marriage.

Helen’s fork halted partway to her mouth as a thought struck her. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I know what I meant to tell you. Nancy Lowe rang.’

‘And?’