‘I never said I wouldn’t finish it, did I? I meant don’t push me. It’s not a simple job.’ He went silent. Kate, apparently realising that she had been, in his words, out of order, took the mug of tea from him and ruffled his hair.

‘Sorry, Bear.’

He smiled. She hadn’t used his pet name for ages. When they first met — on a fun run to raise money for a local children’s hospice — he had been dressed as a teddy bear. He had nearly expired beneath the heavy costume, and Kate had given him a cold drink. He became her Bear from that day forth.

‘I know. I’m being a total pain in the bum.’ She sat down again and looked at him. ‘I just want everything right, and there just don’t seem to be enough hours in the day.’

‘Is it the book? Are you behind with the illustrations?’ he asked tentatively.

‘No. In fact, because I’d done so many sketches, and because they want to use my original paintings as the plates, I’m well ahead with Angela’s bloody book.’ She gave him an apologetic grin. ‘I know I promised to slow down but I want the damn thing finished, so I have been pushing it a bit.’ She paused. ‘I have also told Hubert I need a break before the next one and, joy of joys, he reckons Angela’s nowhere near ready yet. If she’s got writer’s block, that’s fine with me. Long may it last.’

Will looked anxiously at his wife. She was suddenly edgy and bad-tempered, “mardy-faced,” as his mum would have said. He feared that she was going to slip back into her unpredictable frame of mind again, where he no longer recognised his lovely wife.

‘Actually, talking about getting someone in to help us,’ Kate’s voice was suddenly soft and back to normal, ‘I want to have a word with the builders’ merchants just outside town about some more gravel for the side entrance to the garage, and I was thinking of getting some of those circular paving stones for the patio. The concrete is breaking up badly. One of us will fracture an ankle before long.’

Will groaned. ‘That sounds like pretty hard and heavy work for me and my wonky arm.’

‘I have no intention of letting you do the patio, Bear. I thought I’d see if one of the workmen at the builders’ yard might like to earn himself a few pounds. The old rubble would have to be taken up and carted away before the new stones could be laid, and your arm wouldn’t stand up to it. Hopefully, I should be receiving a nice fat cheque in the post soon, so we’ll let someone else get a hernia — if that’s alright with you?’