There was a stunned silence. The girls looked at me. Brendan looked at me. Iris looked at me. I felt the familiar heat of my blood rushing up the length of my neck and into my face.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” There was an edge of accusation in Brendan’s voice.

“I was going to,” I said. “After dinner, when we were relaxing.” I’m not sure if that was true. I slipped away when the ambulance arrived, got on with the rest of my day. I picked up Brendan’s suit from the dry cleaners, collected the textbook I had ordered for Anna in Eason’s, brought Dad home from day care, helped my mother wash her windows, did the grocery shopping on my way home, ran a Hoover over the hall, stairs, and landing, then cooked dinner. Truth be told, I had mostly forgotten about Mr. Gorman after all that.

“This garlic bread is delicious,” declared Iris, picking up Brendan’s napkin and wiping her mouth with it.

“Please. Join us for dinner,” I said, clenched with worry that there might not be enough.

“I’d love to, I’m starving,” said Iris, tucking Brendan’s napkin into the collar of her top. “I forgot to have lunch with all the excitement.”

“I didn’t even know you could do CPR,” said Brendan, as I managed to scrape a decent enough portion of risotto out of the pot.

“I did that first-aid course, remember?” I said. “When the girls were little. Just...you know...so I’d know what to do if they...burned themselves or something.”

“Oh,” said Brendan.

“I nearly forgot,” shouted Iris, pulling a bottle of champagne—I mean, proper champagne, not fizzy wine—out of her handbag. “We have to toast you, Terry. You’re a handy woman to have around in a crisis, big or small.” Iris winked at me, and I thought she might have been referring to the coffee-jar incident. Not that it was a crisis, but...I was still pretty sure that’s what she meant all the same.

“So,” says Jennifer, when all my purchases have been bagged. “That’ll be seventy-four pounds and twenty pence, when you’re ready.” I hand over two crisp fifty-pound notes, still warm from the ATM machine. I smile at her. “Goodbye, Jennifer. Thanks for your help. And I hope everything works out. I’m sure your girlfriend will forgive you once you explain.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Bonsai trees are notoriously difficult to maintain. Everyone knows that. And it’s obvious she’s crazy about you.”

“Thanks, T,” she says. T! “Have a great trip. Where are you heading for next?”

“I’m not exactly sure.”

“Wow. I thought you’d be like my mum, with a laminated itinerary.”

“I am, usually,” I say. “My girls often give out about my lack of spontaneity.”

“I always give out about my mum,” Jennifer says, “but I’d be lost without her.”

Jennifer hugs me before I leave. Although perhaps she is overly familiar with all her customers.

The door tinkles when I open it, and I step outside into the main street.