They stayed with Caitlin for another three days, Connie giving in to her family’s kind ministrations. Then Devan carefully drove her home. It was such a relief to be in her own bed. Devan had insisted on a visit from Caitlin’s doctor, who had changed her antibiotics to stronger ones because she feared pneumonia. But the chest X-ray, which Dr Wright arranged, was clear of any nasties. ‘I’m fine,’ she kept repeating. But no one, including herself, really believed her.

Over the next few days Connie slept as much as the cough would allow, but was dismayed not to feel significantly better. When she was awake, she tried to block Jared from her thoughts. But she knew something had changed for him the night he’d rescued her, something significant. She just wasn’t sure what. It was as if, by asking for his help, she’d opened up feelings in him that previously had not existed. Because, despite not remembering, she definitely had called him, according to her work phone records where she’d stored his number after his first text in Desenzano. How she wished, now, that she hadn’t.

‘Heavens, Con, you look like shit,’ Neil announced cheerfully, when he dropped round a week after they’d got home. Connie was up for short periods of the day now but was still exhausted and frequently racked by coughing spasms. It felt like a sprightly demon was trapped in her chest, trampling about and ripping painfully at the lining of her lungs. She thought if she could only cough it up, she would be OK, but it point-blank refused to be expelled.

Now Neil hugged her. ‘And you’re skin and bone.’ He drew away to look her up and down, a worried frown on his face. ‘What the hell have you been doing to yourself?’

Connie placed the teapot on the kitchen table and turned to take the milk from the fridge. ‘It’s just a stupid bug, but I can’t seem to shake it off. It’s been nearly two weeks now, and I don’t seem to be improving much at all.’ She felt her chin wobble and tears form in her eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to fight off the tears, but faced with her friend’s anxious blue eyes, she felt suddenly helpless.

‘Oh, darling.’ Neil was by her side and embracing her again. He felt warm and strong and she leaned against him for a moment before collecting herself and pulling away to blow her nose and pick out some mugs from the rack by the stove.

‘You know what they say about lungs, don’t you?’ Neil said, when they were seated with their tea. Not waiting for her to reply, he went on seriously, ‘Louise Hay, she claims lung problems are associated with grief.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘What are you grieving for, Connie?’