And then the money had run dry. Word got out they were struggling. Ted put a small box on the counter. Fund for the family of local hero, Robert Tresize, it said on its side in permanent marker. After that, Gareth had come round again.

I want to help, Angie.

I won’t take your money. It’s bad enough the whole town talking about our affairs, let alone taking charity off individuals. It’s the last thing Rob would have wanted. Thank you… But… I just… can’t take your money.

I’m not here to offer you money. I’m here with a job. Only part-time, mind, but yours if you want it.

She’d worked there since. Three days a week. Things were tight but it was enough to put food on the table and keep the electricity connected and make sure the kids could go on the odd school trip. In all those years, whenever he’d asked her to go for a drink – and she’d lost count of how many times that had been – she’d always said no.

Then one day, when the thought of another evening watching Coronation Street with Granfer whilst dealing with an overflowing basket of ironing made her heart sink, she said yes. He had beamed and told her it was five hundred birthdays come at once.

‘I’m not asking for much, Angie. I don’t need to marry you. Or even share your bed.’

Angie dropped her eyes, shifted on her chair, then checked around to make sure nobody was listening in.

‘I’d love to have a meal with you every now and then,’ he went on. ‘Maybe watch a bit of telly. Fix things for you…’ He paused and reached for her hand to squeeze it. ‘What do you say? You think we could do that? Spend a bit more time together outside the shop?’

She looked at him. His skin a mix of pallid white and ruddy pink, sandy hair, eyelashes so fair they were barely there, thin face, gaunt cheeks. It would have been easy to say no for the umpteenth time, but there was a part of her that liked the sound of what he said, liked the idea of having somebody who wanted to spend time with her, who was interested in her, who looked at her in the way he looked at her. Like a woman, not a mum or a daughter-in-law or a skivvy.

‘Thank you, Gareth. I’ll think on it.’

‘Good enough for now.’ And he patted her hand.

After they’d finished a second drink, Gareth pulled the net curtain aside and peered out of the window. ‘Weather’s passed. We can get you back now.’