It wasn’t that it was a relief to stop, but for the first time she had begun to feel uncomfortable when she talked to her son. She had believed they would enjoy a greater intimacy now that Harold was gone. And yet, faced with hours, if she wished, to tell him how things were, she found she was too busy. Or she would speak, and it would dawn on her with creeping certainty that he wasn’t listening. She found reasons not to tidy his bedroom. She even stopped thinking she might see him.

It was the trip to Slapton Sands that had marked her turning point. That night, she had fumbled her front-door key into the lock, calling her thank you to Rex across the dividing fence, and then she had climbed the stairs without taking off her shoes and walked straight into the master bedroom. Fully dressed, she had toppled on to the bed and closed her eyes. In the middle of the night she had realized where she was with a prickle of panic, followed by relief. It was over. She couldn’t think what exactly it was, other than an unspecific weight of pain. She had pulled back the duvet and curled into Harold’s pillow. It smelt of Pears soap and him. Waking later, she had felt the same lightness spreading through her like warm water.

After that, she had carried her clothes in armfuls from the spare room and hung them in the wardrobe, at the opposite end of the rail from Harold’s. She had given herself a challenge: every day without him, she would attempt one new thing. She took the pile of unopened household bills to the kitchen table, along with the cheque book, and began to pay them. She rang the insurance company to make sure Harold’s health care was up to date. She drove the car to the garage and had the air levels checked in the tyres. She even tied an old silk scarf round her hair, like in the old days. When Rex appeared un expectedly at the garden fence, she had to shoot her hand up and tug the knot free.

“I look silly,” she said.

“Not at all, Maureen.”

He appeared to have something on his mind. They would be talking about the garden or Harold’s whereabouts, and then a thought would occur to him, and he would go quiet. When she asked if he was all right, he merely nodded. “Just wait,” he’d tell her. “I have a plan up my sleeve.” She had a hunch it was something to do with herself.