He had put on his clean clothes, of course, and had gone to the funeral and had closed his ears to the words that were spoken, and his eyes to the sorrow on the faces of the people around him.

I am the resurrection and the life saith the Lord.

Caitlin had taught him not to believe those words.

He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.

Stretch the legs of the jeans, fold them neatly sideways.

And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.

Why had she taken that security from him, so that now he could receive no comfort?

He pulled the clothes-drier up to the ceiling and twisted the rope round a hook on the wall.

So she had willed him to be comfortless without her.

Suddenly he liked that idea. He liked that notion of ruthlessness in love.

He went back into the kitchen; Pansy stretched by the Aga opened an eye and gave a thump with her tail.

‘Come on, pooch,’ he said. ‘We’ll take a walk in the rain. We’ll go and get this lady some bottles of wine, just to show her that we mean well.’ He pulled his anorak from the hook near the door and took the dog’s lead from the pocket. ‘Let’s get wet. Yet again.’

Clara’s mother was a nice lady.

She didn’t kiss her daughter when they stepped into the hall, but she held her shoulder for a moment, her white fingers gauging the fragility of the bones.

She noticed him watching her and took her hand from Clara’s shoulder and held it out towards him.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Laurence McGrane,’ said Clara, in a phony Northern accent.

Her mother frowned at her. She wore a necklace of creamy pearls that swung down into the scented cleft between her breasts and the opening of a blue silk blouse.

He took her hand and shook it. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ he handed her a bottle of Côtes du Rhône, ‘to invite me along too.’

‘Divine smell,’ said Clara. ‘What are we having for dinner?’

‘Roast beef. I do hope you’re not a vegetarian. You never know with Clara’s friends.’

He shook his head.

‘He hasn’t had a proper meal for weeks.’ Clara walked on in front of them into the sitting room.

‘Thank you for the wine. That was really thoughtful of you. Clara said you had a dog.’

‘We left her at home.’ He blushed for some reason as he spoke the words. ‘Well, you know, at … It was too wet to bring her. She’s fine. She’s so pleased not to be living in the car any longer.’

They stood in the sitting room smiling somewhat foolishly at each other.

‘Do sit down, Mr McGrane.’ She waved her arm around the room full of chintz-covered chairs, all green and fresh; they didn’t look as if anyone had sat on them ever before.

‘Everyone calls me Lar.’ He sat down as he spoke, facing the long window that gave onto the green of trees and lawn.