‘Could I walk you home, ma’am, or would you prefer to continue your run?’

Esther pretended to give the matter serious consideration. ‘On balance, I think a walk holds more appeal. Also, I need a post box,’ she remembered suddenly, pulling the fat little envelope out of her inner pocket, where it had stayed miraculously dry.

‘Excellent. I believe there’s a post box if we cut down second left.’

‘I believe there is,’ Esther quipped as they fell into step, between dodging oncoming pedestrians.

‘Would you consider taking my arm? Or better still, holding my hand?’

‘My goodness, the man is a fast-mover. But I am a bold, as well as a strong woman – many thanks for that compliment, by the way – so… all right, then.’ They both laughed, enjoying the silliness; but as they interlaced fingers, the intimacy of the contact sent a wave of heat up Esther’s arm, so intense she almost gasped out loud. Lucas, to her disappointment, had never been a big one for public shows of affection. Indeed, the only serious hand-holding she had done in decades was with the children, wriggly and resistant, in need of guidance crossing roads.

‘Nothing like a real letter,’ he said as she popped the envelope through the slot, not asking anything about it, which she liked.

‘Do you think we could take things step by step?’ she ventured, holding his hand more tightly as they headed on towards their street, half felled by a sudden hammer-blow of apprehension as to what she was getting into; the balance of joy, disappointment and fresh heartache that might lie in store.

‘Yes, we could, Esther. We already are. Look. Side by side. One step in front of the other. Easy-peasy.’ He laughed, nodding down at their feet, her soggy trainers and his scuffed boots, moving forwards in one smooth rhythm along the wet pavement.

THE GIFT

49

‘You don’t have to go through with it, you know.’ Viv picked a grape off the bunch in the fruit bowl.

‘I know I don’t. I want to. Well, I don’t want to, but I will.’

‘You’ve nothing to prove, at least not to any of us who care about you.’ Viv popped another grape in her mouth, idly reaching for the journal gift she clearly didn’t recognise, as battered as a well-thumbed bestseller, and open that morning at a page listing all the things Esther had to remember to take with her. ‘Have you got this lot, then?’ She brushed away a few cat hairs.

‘Read it out and I’ll tell you.’

‘Calming drops. Hah. Sensible woman.’

‘That was your recommendation, the homeopathic stuff.’

‘So it was. What next? Hat… well, that is less sensible. I mean, it’s April and how is it going to stay on?’