The rain had stopped, just the sweet lingering smell of it and drops falling from the pub’s guttering. Puddles filled indentations in the pavement and potholes in the road, and in the distance white horses danced on the sea. Bats flew from the church eaves across the street and the moonlight turned everything to shades of wet pewter.

They walked back in silence. They didn’t hold hands. She crossed her arms around her body. They turned into her road and walked up to the house and there they both stopped and faced each other.

‘May I kiss you goodnight?’ He lowered his eyes and she was glad he couldn’t see her deliberation.

‘Yes.’

His head lifted and he smiled at her before leaning forward to press his mouth to hers. His lips were dry, skin roughened by day-old stubble. As the tip of his tongue touched her mouth she was aware of him tensing with urgency. A little alarmed, she pulled away from him and as she did she caught a movement from an upstairs window. She looked up.

Nobody there.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said, then turned from him and walked up the path.

‘Goodnight, Angie.’

As soon as the door closed behind her, she put her head in her hands and breathed the trapped air. Her body began to tremble. She listened to his footsteps echo on the pavement. Leather shoes, his best, worn only for church and special occasions.

A brief kiss. Nothing more. She could smell him on her. Aftershave. Strong. She thought about his lips on hers and shook as she walked up the stairs.

She went straight to the airing cupboard and reached for her cardboard box. Inside were a few of Rob’s things. A small pile of clothes folded neatly. His belt. A hip flask, battered, engraved with his father’s name. His watch wrapped up in a cotton handkerchief. A couple of his T-shirts – her most prized ones – remained unwashed since he died. His smell was still detectable, faint, a mere shadow, but there nonetheless. She leafed through them, not allowing her tears to fall on anything in the box. Nothing was allowed to contaminate what remained of him.

When he was alive, before the sea took him, she would lie beside him, tucked under his arm with her cheek resting on his chest, head turned to breathe him in. She always loved the smell of him. She used to say it was his smell that attracted her, as if they were scientifically matched, two chemicals which reacted perfectly to create something beautiful.