We go back a long way, Miss Whitaker and I, and that is probably why I have kept up my correspondence. It is nice to have people in your life that you can reminisce with, who knew the younger you. The carefree version of the person you have become. We did have fun when we were younger, but as we grew older I saw through her exterior and found her very self-centred. She would make you feel important only to ask to borrow your dress, or suggest she needed matching ribbons but couldn’t afford them so you felt obliged to buy her some. She would suggest that she was low on sketching paper and remind you it was her birthday soon, or overstay for supper and be too tired to travel until the following day. I would share with her some music and she would play it better than I and know it.

Now she is asking about a trip to Europe as if the whole thing is for my benefit. She would do me a favour by accompanying me and tearing herself from her busy, unmarried life. I bet she wants to meet a foreign suitor. Someone dashing to pluck her out of North of England obscurity. She seems to think I want to travel, that I am as desperate as she is to find a companion and will happily pay for the endeavour.

I want to write back with a brisk, no. Then I wonder if I could allude to having met someone to set the gossip going. I could use the excuse of my recent bereavement and postpone her for another six months while I recover, or rather am wooed by Miss Lister. How vicious of me! Perhaps a trip abroad would do me some good. Away from family, and grief and, dare I say it, Miss Lister. Could I bear to be apart from her? Perhaps that will help me decide how I feel.

But even thinking of the practicalities of travel makes me feel cold. Just the issue of what to pack makes me panic that I will forget something essential, or be poorly dressed for the weather. At least here it is always cold and windy. I stay indoors when it is too hot or too cold. But when travelling, anything could happen. Perhaps it’s uncertainty that makes me nervous; waking up in a strange room, not knowing where things are. I am such a coward.