‘I can’t help being under the weather,’ said Pearly. He felt slightly aggrieved at her lack of sympathy and would have appreciated more comfort after a disappointing night. She was right, though: once while at the lectern he’d even had to cough mucus into his handkerchief.

‘I suppose you didn’t have time today to get that information on hospital staffing that I wanted?’

‘No. I’m sorry. With this thing on tonight I forgot.’

‘I’ve asked you several times,’ she said in a tone of resigned sufferance, which was a characteristic whenever she criticised him. ‘I can’t apply for any position there until I know more about the specifics.’

‘I’ll definitely get onto it tomorrow. It’s just a phone call. If I’m busy I’ll get someone to do it.’

‘All I’ve got officially at present are job descriptions. I’m serious about a position there, you know.’

‘I meant to talk about it all with you. I’m sorry.’

‘I had a good chat with Alison,’ continued Helen. ‘She’s very supportive and she knows people there of course. She thinks I should get on to it. Definitely apply.’

‘Then we need to have a good talk about it too,’ said Pearly. He knew he had some ground to make up.

‘It’s too late tonight,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow night, when you’ve heard back.’

‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘I had one before you came home. I want to finish sorting the recipe folders before going to bed.’ She had the magazine pages and photocopied sheets in piles between her chair and the log-burner and was discarding those she no longer wanted. Those she decided to keep would be grouped according to food type and replaced in the clear A4 pockets. She assumed an air of deliberate concentration, and Pearly left her to it and went to the kitchen to make himself a drink. The jug was noisy in its operation, and Pearly could talk to himself without being heard.

‘Not one of your best days, eh, Pearly?’ he said, sniffed, and rolled his eyes as a form of self-mockery.