He chewed his beard and nodded, but without looking up, as if to say I know.

“I better get back. Rex says hello, by the way. And I brought you some plasters. As well as one of those fruit drinks you like so much.” She slid them into the neutral spot on the table midway between herself and Harold. “But maybe pilgrims don’t use plasters?”

Harold leaned back to slip both her presents into his pocket. His trousers hung loose at his hips. “Thank you, Maureen. They’ll come in very handy.”

“It was selfish of me to ask you to give up your walk. Forgive me, Harold.”

He sunk his head so low she wondered if he had fallen asleep on the table. She could see down his neck to the soft white skin of his back, where the sun hadn’t reached. She felt a shiver shoot straight through her, as if she were seeing him naked for the first time. When he lifted his head and met her eye, she blushed.

He spoke so softly, the words were part of the air. “I’m the one who needs forgiveness.”

♦

Rex was waiting in the passenger seat with coffee in a polystyrene cup, and a doughnut wrapped in a serviette. She sat beside him, and took small gulps of air to stop more weeping. He offered her the drink and the food, but she had no appetite.

“I even said I think not. I can’t believe I said that.”

“You have a good cry.”

“Thank you, Rex. But I’ve cried enough. I’d prefer to stop now.”

She dabbed her eyes and glanced out at the street, where people were going about their business. All around her there seemed to be men and women; old ones, young ones; walking apart, or together. The coupled world looked so busy, so sure of itself. She said, “Years ago, when Harold and I first met, he called me Maureen. Then it changed to Maw, and that was how it was for years. These days it’s Maureen again.” She touched her mouth with her fingers, pressing for silence.

“Would you like to stay?” said Rex’s voice. “Talk to him again?”

She twisted the key in the ignition. “No. Let’s go home.”

And as they pulled away, she saw Harold, this stranger who had been her husband for so many years, with a dog trotting at his side, and a group of followers she didn’t know – but she didn’t throw a wave, or hoot the horn. Without fanfare or ceremony or even a proper goodbye, she drove away from Harold, and let him walk.

♦