‘He looked a bad ’un to me. And I saw him drop a wrapper in the street.’

‘And such a silly name,’ I said. ‘I mean, men have it on their underpants.’

‘Do they? I wouldn’t know.’ She took off her glasses and polished them with her napkin.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with pity. Maybe Pam sensed this, because she looked up sharply.

‘If you think I’m a virgin you’ve got the wrong think coming. I had an active sex life before Teddy. I was a size eight then, believe it or not.’ She put on her glasses. ‘I’m fine, sweet pea. I just haven’t defined my life in terms of men. And I know you thought Mum was a bad-tempered old cow, everybody did, but we were very happy together. Now she’s gone it’s like I’ve lost an arm. And it won’t grow back.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘Now let’s hit those pelargoniums.’

And then, midway through June, Calvin phoned. It was a Sunday afternoon and he said he was coming round. He said he’d been on the Isle of Mull.

‘The Isle of Mull? What were you doing?’

‘Clearing my head.’

I laughed. ‘Mulling things over?’

He didn’t respond. He said he’d be with me in an hour and rang off.

I rushed upstairs to change my clothes. So that’s where he had been. I couldn’t imagine Calvin mulling things over; he wasn’t the type. But what did I know? In the last fortnight he’d become a stranger. Maybe he’d been a stranger all along—the most unlikely repository for my romantic dreams.

As I pulled off my tracksuit bottoms I thought: he’s coming to tell me we’re finished. He realised he wasn’t ready for a new relationship. Who could possibly be ready, when their wife had just died? How cruel I’d been, to ambush men when they were broken with grief! What a tawdry little plan it had been!

Calvin looked wretched. It had been a hot day and he wore lime-green shorts and a shirt pattered with pineapples. This jaunty outfit mocked his grim expression. He was deeply tanned but looked wrinkled and diminished.

‘Would you like some wine?’ I asked. ‘Shall we sit in the garden?’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t want the neighbours snooping.’

My heart sank. I poured drinks and we sat in the kitchen.

For a moment he didn’t speak. The only sound was the plunk, plunk of the dripping tap. He’d promised to get a new washer; it had been on his list of things to do.

‘So how’ve you been?’ he asked.

‘Fine.’

I was seized with panic. What on earth did we ever talk about? There seemed absolutely nothing to say.