‘I’d like to snog the face off you.’ I dove on her, covering her face in wet kisses, while she shrieked in mock disgust.

I replayed the highlights of our time together while I showered and dressed that last morning. Whatever angle I looked at it from, Anna was my perfect woman and tomorrow she was leaving. We both were.

Today, though, we were visiting the home of some literary author I had never heard of and, judging by the fact we were the only people standing in his library, no one else had heard of him either.

‘Imagine writing a story that people would still read hundreds of years after you’d died.’ Anna’s face shone as she gazed at his typewriter in awe. I didn’t read books but I got it. She felt about words the way I felt about films and music. The way I felt about travel.

The way I now felt about her, but I couldn’t tell her that. In twenty-four hours, we’d be nothing but a memory.

Anna glanced around the room before stretching her arm across the security rope and running her fingers over the keys. ‘He once touched these. Imagine how happy he must have been sitting here, dreaming up characters.’

‘Haven’t you ever wanted to write?’ I asked.

‘I’d like to but I’m not sure what.’

‘Have you tried?’

‘No.’

‘Everyone has something to say; it’s a matter of figuring out what that something is. What book would you write, if you could?’

‘A love story.’ Anna didn’t think twice. ‘One with a happy ending.’

‘A clichéd ending.’

‘Happy,’ Anna insisted. ‘Listen, this board says that he never finished his last work. Or did he and it wasn’t published. I can’t make sense of the way it’s worded.’ Anna frowned as she read the poorly translated sign again.

‘It must annoy you when you read things written incorrectly, Miss Teacher?’ I asked.

‘Not at all – I’m not the grammar police,’ Anna said too lightly. By now, I knew her better than that. I raised my eyebrows.

‘Okay, it does annoy me a bit,’ she conceded.

I crossed my arms and waited.

‘Okay. Okay!’ Anna grinned. ‘It really irritates me. Honestly, I once wouldn’t go into a steakhouse in London because it had been named Stephens Steaks without an apostrophe.’

‘That’s awful,’ I said.

‘I know.’

‘Imagine naming a steak house “Stephen’s”. It hardly screams Wild West.’

‘Shut up,’ Anna laughed. ‘There must be things that annoy you?’

‘People who think the Eighties were uncool.’

‘Oh.’ Anna kept a straight face. ‘We’re back to talking about the Eighties. Again. Shame we have to go. You realize what the time is?’ She checked her watch.

‘No?’ I said. My watch still wasn’t working after its dunking in the sea.