Then the woman looked towards him, and he saw that it was Ava.

They looked cautiously at each other across the barrier.

“Hello,” she said at last, and smiled. He felt his chest tighten, and forced himself to relax. She looked older today, with her hair brushed neatly back from her face and her good but damaged clothes.

“Hi.”

“Busy day?”

Why did he feel ashamed? He had nothing to feel bad about.

“That’s a bit different,” he said, gesturing to the trouser-suit.

“I’m in disguise.”

“As a WAG?”

She laughed. He liked that she was laughing. Why did it feel good to make her laugh? They were enemies.

“Something like that. Would I pass?”

“Not with that wine stain.”

“No, I suppose not. Never mind. I’ll never wear it again after today.”

“Not much call for expensive trouser-suits in Bali, then?” What would the council officer say if he dragged her out here and pointed to Ava and said, Look, this is the woman I’m talking about, the one who lives in the beach hut? Would she believe him?

“Not really.”

“Where’s that brother of yours?”

“He’s meeting his editor in London.”

“It’s a real thing, then? His book, I mean?” Donald found it uncomfortable to consider that anyone as odd and feckless as Finn might be capable of producing a finished manuscript, never mind getting a book deal.

“Of course it’s a real thing.”

“Would you like a lift?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“The bus is fine.”

“No it’s not.” Why was he trying to talk her round? “The bus is crap, you could be here for hours. And those heels must be murder to stand in. Ellen used to say… ”

In the suddenly charged silence, they stared at each other.

Then Ava took three steps towards the barrier and put her hand on the pole. The heels made her clumsy; she stumbled, winced, slipped her feet out of the shoes and tried again. The scissoring of her legs as she climbed over reminded him of a game the girls played in the playgrounds of his youth. Two girls held a tight-stretched skein of elastic bands, a third girl jumped over and over as the barrier crept higher: floor, ankle, kneesies, bumsies, waisties, armsies, and the always-impossible necksies… the quince bush had dropped stems like caltraps, and he winced as she coolly picked one out of the sole of her foot.

“It’s this one,” he said, wishing he still had his old Mercedes. Why did he care what she thought of his car? She fumbled with the door handle. “Sorry, it’s a bit stiff, I’ll do it for you.”

As he closed the door on her, he realised she’d left her shoes on the pavement, standing neatly side by side, like watchful sentries at a long-abandoned post.

He hadn’t even left the car park before he was regretting his invitation. What could they talk about for the next forty minutes? It was like being tortured. Trying too hard to look relaxed and confident, he was driving like it was his first time behind the wheel. He stalled the engine at the traffic lights.