A Tesla’s not her natural choice of car – a bit of a boy’s toy – but she likes the fact that it’s electric. Rapid too. Rob bought it for her personal use down in Cornwall. She still can’t quite believe the new life she has. Her old Morris Minor Traveller used to spend more time at the garage being repaired than on the road.

She watches as a steady stream of people leaves the terminal: a few commuters but mostly holidaymakers. Despite herself, she starts to clock each face, noticing individual features – sallow cheeks, Roman nose, spaniel eyes. Before the accident, she was employed by the police as a civilian ‘super recogniser’. Two per cent of the population can’t remember a face, a condition known as prosopagnosia, or facial blindness; at the other end of the spectrum, 1 per cent – dubbed the super recognisers – can never forget one. That was her. It wasn’t her first choice of career – she always saw herself as a portrait painter – but she discovered that she was good at it. Very good. She once identified a suspect from just his eyes. The rest of his face was covered.

She sits up. Rob has appeared, across the car park to their left. Her heart stops. Cotton hoodie, white T-shirt and jeans, courier bag slung over one shoulder. He lowers his head to run a restless hand through his hair and looks up, taking in the evening sun with a sideways squint at the sky. She waves across at him, scrambling out of the car as he walks over. They kiss and hold each other tightly.

‘What’s with Stretch?’ he says as he slides behind the Tesla’s steering wheel.

She hadn’t noticed, but Stretch is now curled up on the seat, head down. He was so happy a few minutes ago.

‘Just tired,’ she says, scooping him up as she sits in the passenger seat. His tiny legs are trembling on her lap. ‘Walked too far today, didn’t we, little one? We’re both tired.’

Rob glances across at her and smiles. The diffident smile that had so intrigued her as she lay in hospital, wondering if her life would ever be the same again. She knows what he’s thinking. Has she just let him know that she’s too tired for their usual Friday night routine? They’ll have to see. She hasn’t felt so well this week.

‘Nice hair, by the way,’ he says.

‘Thanks.’ She’s pleased that he’s noticed. She went for an undercut earlier today, in a bid to cheer herself up, make herself feel younger.

‘I got you a present,’ he says, legs bouncing like a schoolboy beneath the steering wheel.