The following day Michael was subdued as he watched her gather her things together. Romy felt the wrench of leaving him, too. But there were people coming in: Theresa, Imogen, Leo on alert – Wendy, for Sunday tea. He will be fine, she told herself. She found she couldn’t think about her own plans yet, as she wheeled her case down the corridor towards the front door. They were hovering on the horizon, just out of reach, like good weather after a storm. She would enjoy the sunshine later.

They stood together in the hall. He looks so drawn and tired, Romy thought, watching Michael manoeuvre himself until he was leaning against the wall. Stop worrying, she told herself firmly as she pulled on her jacket. But this felt like a huge moment, almost more significant than the first time she’d left him. Then, she had slunk off, not knowing what lay ahead, not even sure she was doing the right thing. But now she knew. Now she was quite sure.

‘I’m really going to miss you,’ he said, giving her a tender smile. His parting kiss lingered on her cheek for just a second longer than usual. She heard the nervousness in his voice as he added, ‘You will keep in touch?’

‘Of course I will,’ Romy said, giving him a quick hug. But as she opened the front door her feelings were powerfully uncomplicated: she was free.

When she arrived back at the cottage, though, just as the sun was going down in a spectacular light show of pinks, purples and gold over the estuary, instead of celebrating her freedom she found herself giving in to the strong desire to cry – which had hovered like an itch she dared not scratch over the tedious journey in the hot, packed train carriage.

Romy had anticipated this moment for months – the moment when she no longer had to worry about Michael, or his prevarications, his frailty, the pressure of his unrequited feelings for her. She had thought she would be relieved, liberated to follow her own path. But there was no sense of freedom as she made her way up to bed that night, after too many shots of vodka from the bottle in the freezer. All she felt was drunk and exhausted … and overwhelmingly lonely.

Romy spent her first days at home mooching about, trying to summon the energy to begin again. But now, early on Saturday evening, she was hurrying along the lane to the village car park to meet the man who was going to fit a new windscreen in the Audi: she’d found a ten-pence-sized chip, sitting spider-like in the centre of the glass when she went to the car that lunchtime.

She no longer looked out for Finch, these days, knowing he was on the other side of the world, but the place felt empty and monochrome without him.