‘No!’ At the lights, he flicked the indicator on, the thick wedding band gleaming on his finger, like a reminder of all I had lost. ‘Apologising again?’ Marcus looked at me more closely. ‘Is it that ghost on your grave again?’

‘Yeah.’ It was out before I thought it through. ‘My husband’s ghost.’

‘Oh God, Ruby.’

‘It’s fine,’ I muttered, appalled at myself.

Had he actually paled? Perhaps it was just the twilight, dimming behind his head, night coming down so rapidly.

A heavy silence pervaded the car.

Then.

‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ he said. ‘Did I say something to…’

But I lost Marcus’s words because – feeling a flush of shame, about to ask him to please drop me before we reached my grotty block – a familiar figure skittered across the far pavement.

Huddled into a Puffa jacket, the figure glanced around quickly before slipping into the alley between the old garages: that dirty groove, the shortcut leading to the high street.

It led round the back of the shops, coming out, I thought, by the ropey bar on the corner – the one with the missing neon bulbs in its sign, so it was currently entitled WANKY, rather than SWANKY.

And the figure I recognised was hurrying behind another—

Who? I strained to see but, from my position, it was too hard.

At the next lights, Marcus slowed. ‘Ruby, I’m really… I don’t want you to think I’m insensitive.’

‘It’s fine.’ Perplexed, I gazed back in the mirror – but they were both gone. ‘Really.’

By the time I stopped staring, I realised it was too late to ask Marcus to stop before reaching my place.

I let him drive on briefly, as far as the nice side of the green, clean and open, a place to let your children play without worrying.

‘Drop me here?’ Nearing a smart Victorian terrace. ‘You’re so kind, Marcus, thank you so much. I hope your shoulder’s OK, by the way.’

‘Ruby.’ He was tangibly searching for words. ‘I just—’

‘It’s fine.’ Fumbling with the door handle, panic rose. ‘I would ask you in, only Zach’s got friends round – and they’re so loud.’

‘Listen, Ruby.’ Marcus put his hand on my arm. ‘I wanted to say—’

I looked at his fingers. It was this, the adult touch, the touch of a man; this was what I had missed so much: this is what I didn’t have anymore. Ordinary, uncomplicated touch and affection.

I met his gaze; a sort of strange, pale green, and I—

Thwack.

We both jumped at the football smacking against his window.

Marcus removed his hand.

A grinning face, Zach’s mate Rocky. ‘Nice motor, Mrs M,’ he shouted through the glass.

Zach, scooping the ball up, lurking behind. Not smiling.

I’ll be one sec, I mouthed.

My son turned away.

‘So.’ Marcus leant over to undo my door, and I inhaled his aftershave again – that clean piney smell. ‘Any time you fancy that drink and chat.’