‘Brody?’

He decided to run with it, even though it was a totally bizarre way to start a conversation. ‘What kind of vol au vents?’

She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t know! Does it matter?’

‘Tinned salmon, definitely no. Egg mayonnaise, not if you paid me. Prawn cocktail? Maybe. So I’d say it matters.’

‘I was talking about vol au vents more as a general principle. As a concept.’

Vol au vents as a concept. This was something new to Brody. Thinking deeply and abstractly about flaky, retro party food was not something he’d ever imagined himself doing, but he found he was relishing the prospect because he was thinking about something new, something different from the same old things that ran around the worn track inside his head day after day.

‘No,’ he said thoughtfully, firmly. ‘I’m not sure I do like vol au vents.’

‘Thank you!’ Anna said, and the relief and validation in her tone had him imagining her collapsing back into an armchair, argument won, even though he had no idea what the battle had been about or who she was having it with.

He tried to imagine what she looked like as he talked to her. It was strange just to hear a voice and have no visual to go with it. He pictured Anna with long hair with a bit of a wave, delicate features. Large eyes. He probably imagined her that way because the first time he’d spoken to her, she’d sounded childlike. Not innocent or immature – she’d experienced too much for that – but in the sense that she’d sounded lost.

‘So what’s with this sudden obsession with canapés?’ he asked, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a smile. ‘If you want to get started on sausage rolls, I have quite strong opinions about those.’

Anna laughed. Brody had forgotten how good it felt to make someone do that. The air around him felt warmer. ‘Really? Sausage rolls?’ she said.

‘I’ve become quite fussy about sausages in general, not just those wrapped in pastry,’ he said, aware how much of an old codger that made him sound but somehow not minding. ‘Maybe it’s living in the country. There are some great farm shops nearby.’ Ones that delivered and let you pay online, thankfully, but he didn’t tell her that.

‘Where are you?’

‘Devon.’

‘Oh, Devon is lovely,’ she said wistfully. ‘I once had a holiday there, a really good holiday…’ She broke off, and Brody guessed she was thinking about her husband. He waited, not minding, wondering if the recollection made her happy or sad. Holidays were simultaneously the best and the worst memories, he’d found, packed as they were with new places and new experiences, which made them richer and more colourful than everyday life.

Anna sighed again, and when she spoke it was clear she’d pulled the plug on whatever mental slideshow she’d been watching. ‘I’m not a country girl,’ she said ruefully. ‘I can only just tell one end of a cow from the other. I live in—’