‘Just walk?’

‘It’s such a lovely day. It’s a shame to waste the sunshine, sitting in a car.’

I’d spent all yesterday afternoon brushing out the upholstery and polishing the dashboard and the mirrors. I had removed Mum’s Mills & Boon novel from the glove compartment, replacing it with a new bag of barley sugar. I had imagined unwrapping them for Kathryn, feeding her sweet morsels as we drove.

‘Come on,’ said Kathryn. ‘I know where we should go.’ We walked through the village in silence, swapping the odd small smile, until we reached the church. I thought about asking Kathryn if I could snap her in front of the yew trees in the graveyard; the daffodils were out and with her yellow outfit it would have made a pretty picture. But instead I asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘Not far.’

We took the lane around the side of the church. Kathryn led the way, her hand trailing along the old stone wall. I walked behind, watching her skirt sway slightly with each step.

‘I enjoyed the dance, Howard.’

‘Do you know Derrick Pearce?’

She twisted her umbrella in her hand. ‘A little.’

‘He mentioned you, at work. Before the dance.’

‘Did he?’

‘He mentioned that he’d spoken to you.’

‘Really.’

I waited for more.

‘I think he was keen on me for a while,’ Kathryn said.

‘I see.’

‘I don’t like him much, though.’

‘No.’

The lane smelled of rain and earth. It had become warmer and my toes rubbed together in my shoes. I would have to choose thinner socks tomorrow.

‘I’ve been planting some more roses.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘I’ve bought a yellow one. It’s the colour of your dress.’

She turned and gave me a quick, bright smile before continuing down the path. The lane became thinner and darker. Blossom hung over our heads; a few petals were already floating to the ground.

‘How do you know Derrick?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know him, Howard.’

‘I thought you did.’

Kathryn stopped walking and looked into my face. ‘He came into the library. Like you.’

I laughed. ‘Derrick Pearce, in a library?’

‘What’s funny about that?’

‘I didn’t have him down as a library man, that’s all.’

‘I didn’t have you down as a library man, Howard.’ She carried on walking, twisting her umbrella in time with each step.

We came out of the lane and into the fields behind the power station.

‘I haven’t been down here for a long time,’ Kathryn said.

From where we stood, I could see the cooling towers of the power station on one side, and the pools – the disused gravel pits – on the other. The power station pumps its surplus ash into these pits. They’re really the best place for it. Things seem to grow down here, whatever happens.

The closest pool shimmered in the sunshine, its surface glinting through the leaves as if there was nothing beneath. At that moment, it looked as if it was a real lake, not a man-made, oversized puddle.