Calvin’s declaration of love had taken me by surprise. It changed things between us. We were very close, that summer. I felt myself falling in and out of love with him, according to the chemistry and the weather. Sometimes he said something stupid and I thought: what the hell am I doing? Then the sun came out and I opened my heart. Sunshine is underestimated, in relationships. During those sultry days of August, the grass bleached and the trees heavy with exhaustion, only the now existed. The future had not yet closed in.

Did I tell you Calvin played stride piano? Fats Waller, whom I loved. Gershwin, whom I equally loved—how did Calvin know? I have no idea if he was any good but my insides melted and I was his. He played in his living room while I lay on his thick white rug, listening to him and thinking about his childhood. How strange, never to have been seen by his own mother! An invisible child, known only by the touch of her fingers. When I asked him he said, ‘I bought this piano so I could play for her, even though she’s long since dead.’ See how he could surprise me?

Later we’d have a swim and I’d lie on my back, gazing at the last rays of the sun glinting on the weather vane above the stable. I even dreamed of getting a horse. I’d canter through the secret byways of the green belt—the fields behind Sainsbury’s where cows still grazed; the bridle path, bordered with brambles, sunk beside the humming motorway. If you closed your eyes you could think it was bees.

I spent most of the summer at Calvin’s place. I even brought along my cat, Flossie. London held nothing for me any more. My friends seemed permanently away visiting grandchildren and jetting off on their countless holidays. Maybe they just didn’t get in touch, but I no longer minded. Max and Lucy seemed disinclined to visit, even though I’d now told them about this new man in my life. Plus there was Pam, another good reason to stay away. How could I face her, after we’d so enthusiastically slagged off my lover? It was too embarrassing for both of us. And I felt guilty for using her when I needed her, and dropping her now I was happy. So, like a coward, I avoided her. When I left the house I slipped out through the alley, the secret thorough-fare that had brought Calvin into my life.

One morning in September I emerged from Calvin’s bed to find him downstairs, sitting at his laptop. His hair was damp from the shower and he wore his toweling dressing gown with St Regis Hotel stitched on the pocket. It turned out he was downloading the tide table for the Kentish coast.

‘I’m taking you out of this world,’ he said.