Tonight’s date was called Alastair Kirk. He was sixty-two (a younger man!), a retired veterinary surgeon and, with a bit of luck, would be so interesting and amusing and handsome that the evening would fly by. (Alastair and Alison – come on, they even sounded good as a couple. She’d already planned to make a joke of saying, ‘You can call me Al’, like the Paul Simon song, as an ice-breaker. Hopefully he would get the reference and find her witty rather than weird. Hmm. Maybe she wouldn’t mention it after all.)

She got out of the car, tugged her dress down where it had stuck to her legs and set off. Even if Alastair Kirk didn’t turn out to be Mr Wonderful, she hoped the evening would be worth missing her favourite TV quiz for, at least. Second time lucky?

He was waiting at a table in the pub for her with a glass of red wine and noticed her immediately, standing up with a little wave. First impressions: quite handsome, tall and slim with neat hair, well cut. He was clearly attentive, punctual and friendly, she thought, crossing the room towards him, a nervous smile plastered in place. All good things about a man. But then as they introduced each other and he went to buy her a drink, she noticed that he seemed to have brought several full carrier bags with him, clustered by the foot of the table. Had he been shopping prior to meeting her? she wondered, frowning and taking a surreptitious look. One bag appeared to be full of clothes, she saw. Another was stuffed with tins of food, and a third contained a variety of objects: a pair of knackered old trainers, a book, a folder of papers and . . . was that a toothbrush sticking out?

Not shopping, then, she thought, disconcerted and biting her lip. He appeared to have brought along a collection of belongings with him. She glanced over to the bar, where he was making the barmaid laugh about something. He seemed charming enough, but did he actually have anywhere to live? she wondered. He wasn’t hoping to cadge a bed at her place when the night came to a close, was he?

‘Excuse the bags!’ he cried in a jovial voice, as he returned with her glass of wine, presumably noticing her staring quizzically at them. He was well spoken and well presented too, clean-shaven, with a smart striped shirt and dark trousers, cufflinks glinting at his wrists. ‘I’m between houses at the moment, camping out with friends. I appreciate this makes me look rather like a vagrant, but it’s just a temporary setback. Not a down-and-out just yet, ha!’

‘Ahh,’ Alison said, smiling politely. ‘That must be frustrating. When will you be able to move into your new place?’