He had no idea what was going on, why the widows were merry, or how they made the noises that came out of their mouths, but he could tell that the opera was spectacular.

And he felt – in a way he never had before – grown up. He was wearing a shirt and tie. They had sherry at the bar. And Annabelle looked unbelievable. She was in a knee-length black dress and in his mind they were Brad and Jen or Frank and Ava or some other famous couple.

At the interval they sat at a small marble-topped table in the corner of the bar and had another glass of sherry.

‘You like it?’ he said.

‘I love it.’ She smiled at him and he thought Oh God, a smile for me. For me. We’re together. We’re actually together. ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t really know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘But it’s still totally captivating. It’s weird – if you put an opera CD on for an hour I’d be totally bored, but watching it – it felt like it was ten minutes.’

‘I know. Captivating’s the right word.’ She sipped her sherry. ‘And so stylized. They have to act, but while singing. It’s amazing.’

The bell rang to signal it was time to return to their seats. As they headed for the double door that led to the concourse, he put his arm around her waist. He felt the heat of her body through her dress, and then, in a moment he would never forget, she put her arm around him.

And it was obvious they fitted.

It was, to that point, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

4

When he woke, the first thing he thought was When can I see her?

After the opera they had gone to the lake where she had kissed him. There was a bench; it was damp and he had brushed it down, then put his jacket on the wooden surface.

Don’t be soft, she said. You’ll ruin it.

You’ll ruin your dress.

It cost me ten pounds in the River Island sale, she said. Your jacket is much more valuable. It’s quite cool, actually.

It’s my dad’s. He had it in his wardrobe. It’s pretty old.

They call that vintage. Your dad had good taste.

They sat and talked for a while. Her mum had died when she was eleven and she and her brother had been raised by their dad, a physics teacher. He was an opera fan – along with hiking, model-making, jazz and woodwork – and had taught her a bunch about opera, along with how to make furniture, how to navigate in the thick fog of the Howgill Fells and how to bivouac overnight if you got lost, but, most importantly, he’d taught her to trust in her own abilities and skills and follow her dreams.