“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said when she eventually arrived, winding down the window as she approached. “I was watching a video to learn how to tap dance but they’ve given me pole dancing instead and I just don’t think I’ve got the hips for all that thrusting and—oh, goodness, be quiet Patricia! Prattling on. Jump in, darling. I’ll drive. We’ve plenty of time, don’t worry.”

We would perhaps still have made it but then, as we travelled up the hill towards the test centre, a bird swooped across the road in front of us, its wing stroking the windscreen.

Patricia braked. “Lionel!” she cried.

“We haven’t got time!” I protested. “We need to—”

But Patricia was already outside the car, running towards the bird, brandishing her cardigan like a net. By the time she finally managed to catch Lionel and bundle him into the back seat of the car, another ten minutes had passed, and I had missed my test start time.

“That’s it, then,” I said quietly. “We’re too late. They won’t let me take it now.”

Patricia looked at her watch and frowned. “I’ll call and explain.”

I shook my head sadly. “I can’t take a driving test with a wild peacock flapping about on the back seat anyway.”

Patricia sniffed. “Hardly wild.”

I sighed. “I think,” I said carefully, because although I was upset, it wasn’t in my nature to offend, “I think we should stop now. You being my teacher. I think I should find another one.”

Patricia paused for a moment, but she didn’t argue. She just nodded and said, “Of course. Whatever you think.”

I got out of the car and walked home.

*

I didn’t hear from Patricia for a few weeks, but neither did I do anything about finding a replacement. I told myself I needed a break. I would approach the task fresh in a few months’ time.

But then, when I opened the front door one Saturday morning, I found Patricia standing on the doorstep.

“I will just say one thing,” Patricia began, before I could say anything. “Will you, for goodness’ sake, tell that girl you love her?”

And then she turned and left, leaving me standing on the doorstep, feeling as if she had peeled back my skin and read my thoughts as easily as she might a poster on a billboard.

Later that day, I found my father in his shed and asked him to let Patricia know I wanted to recommence my lessons.

*

Patricia didn’t mention her Saturday morning doorstep visit during the next lesson. But, as we were about to begin the drive back to my road, I said, “I do love her.”

“Well,” Patricia said. “Yes.”

“I find just the sight of her calming. As if I’ve been standing in a very cold room, and when she appears, the sun has started coming through the window.”

Patricia nodded. “I see.”

“In fact, I find it quite ridiculous,” I said, turning to look at Patricia now, “that so much happiness should depend on the preservation of this one person – this package of skin and bones and organs, that really could get damaged at any time. How does anyone go on with their life, when they love someone? And surely the most sensible course of action, if you do find yourself in that situation, is to stop loving them, just as soon as possible?”