Angela took the black silk tippet out and refolded it, carefully aligning the ends. ‘It was nice of Hilaria to ask you to take the Christmas Day service again,’ she said. ‘Have you decided what your theme will be?’

‘Love,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘What else is Christmas about?’

‘And not just Christmas.’ She sat down next to him on the bed and took his hand. ‘We’ve been happy, haven’t we?’

‘Yes, and we still are.’

‘Even here?’

‘Here, or anywhere else, as long as we have each other.’ He wondered why the sincerest of words invariably sounded so trite, and put his arm around her to give them substance. They had come back to Cornwall in the spring, having spent most 51of their married life in the city, and he had tried – successfully, for the most part – to make the move without resentment. He was used to a busy parish and his work in London was by no means finished, but he had given it up for something less demanding, knowing that if he didn’t spend more time with his wife now, while it mattered and while she still had a sense of who he was, he would bitterly regret it later. The parish he had taken in Marazion was even quieter than he feared, the community too self-sufficient to need him for much between birth and death, but it made sense: Angela had a sister nearby to whom she had always been close, and he knew that he would need help with her care eventually. ‘Let’s get these cases ready to go,’ he said, before the mood could take hold of them both. ‘Now we’ve packed everything, we can just look forward to the day.’

‘Oh, I am looking forward to it,’ she said with feeling. ‘It will do us good to meet some new people, and Hilaria is such a wonderful hostess. I dare say my mother will be furious that we’re not spending Christmas with her this year, but we’ll just have to make it up to her.’

He fumbled over fastening the suitcase. Angela’s mother had died shortly after the war, but he knew better than to contradict her; these sharp reminders of a reality that now ebbed and flowed only made her anxious and less self-assured than ever, and more often than not he colluded in keeping them at bay. ‘I’m sure she’ll forgive us,’ he said. ‘Now, let me bring these downstairs while you go and make us some tea.’

‘And we’ll have some of Mrs Curtis’s Christmas cake,’ Angela said. ‘We might as well cut it now, as we’re going to be away.’ 52

‘Perfect. I’ll be down in a minute.’ She left him to it, and Richard noticed the sudden emptiness that he had felt more acutely of late whenever she left the room – and, occasionally, even when she was at his side. As the older of the two, he had always assumed that he would be the first to go and he had worried about how she would cope without him; now, he faced a different sort of loneliness, and he wondered again if he had the strength. The air in the room was chilly, and he got up to close the curtains against the draught. Already, the waves were high up the beach, and he never ceased to marvel at how quickly the water covered the causeway once the tide had turned. He waited until the last glimpse of the cobbles had disappeared, transforming the Mount once more into an island, familiar but unreachable, then went downstairs to be with his wife.