Everyone round the table smiles at Barker and, as they launch into the song, him playing the Uluru in front of other people for the first time, he can’t help beaming with pride. As skills go, having a loud whistle may not sound like much, and given the choice he’d rather be a virtuoso player, but that evening he feels simply happy in his heart.

*

After the rehearsal, Barker drives home, whistling to himself. He wonders if tonight would be the right night to own up about the Uluru to the missus. Maybe not. She’s been a bit cold on him recently. He’s not sure what to do about it.

He pulls into the drive of his house and parks his car at the side, by the kitchen door. It’s dark but Janey has not yet closed the blinds in the kitchen and he can see her at the sink. She’s wearing Marigolds and a slight frown. She lifts a hand from the washing up to where her fringe, which could do with a trim, is annoying her, but because of the gloves she can only push at it with the back of her hand. She wrinkles her nose. He remembers how, when they first met, at the age of seventeen, she would wrinkle her nose when she disagreed with him, pausing before she spoke, as if the wrinkling was her way of thinking about it. Her hair was long and curly then. It’s shorter now, although still curly, and stranded with grey. They don’t argue much – unless it’s about money, like most couples. He’s more of a spender than she is, fair to say, although he wouldn’t call himself extravagant.

Peter Barker, Inspector of the British Transport Police, gets out of the car and takes both of his ukuleles from the passenger foot-well. He locks the car, opens the kitchen door and steps inside. Janey turns to greet him but he raises a finger to prevent her. He puts the Luna Pearl down on the counter top and extracts the Uluru from its case. Janey stands looking at him, her hands in the Marigolds raised up, foamy. He knows she is taking in that she hasn’t seen that particular uke before.

Peter Barker sings ‘The Story of My Life’ to his wife while playing his brand new Uluru concert ukulele. Janey still has her hands raised and the foam from the Marigolds has slid down her wrist and is dripping from her elbow to the floor, but he carries on staring at her as he sings, plays and whistles, so that she has to keep looking at him, because he means it.

She shakes her head slowly at him but he carries on. One more verse to go. He can do it. It suddenly feels incredibly important that he does.