It was too much to stay inside, thinking these things, and regretting so many others. Harold reached for his jacket. Outside a curve of moon hung above flakes of cloud. Noticing him, a woman with violent pink hair stopped watering her hanging baskets and stared, as if he were strange.

From a public phone box he rang Maureen, but she had no news to report and their conversation was brief and halting. Only once she referred to his walk, when she asked if he had thought of looking at a map. Harold said he was intending to buy proper walking equipment once he had made it as far as Exeter. There would be more choice in a city, he told her. He gave a knowing reference to Gore-Tex.

She said, “I see.” The sound was flat, suggesting he had trodden in something unpleasant that she had been expecting all along. In the silence that followed he could hear the click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and the rattle of her swallowing. Then she said, “I suppose you have worked out how much this is all costing.”

“I thought I’d use my retirement fund. I’m sticking to a budget.”

“I see,” she said again.

“It’s not as if we had plans.”

“No.”

“So is that OK?”

“OK?” she repeated, as if the word were not one she had come across before.

For one chaotic moment he wanted to say, Why don’t you come with me, only he knew she would stamp on that with her I think not, so instead he said, “Is it OK with you? That I’m doing this? That I’m walking?”

“It has to be,” said Maureen, and then she hung up.

Again Harold left the phone box wishing he could make Maureen understand. But for years they had been in a place where language had no significance. She only had to look at him and she was wrenched to the past. Small words were exchanged and they were safe. They hovered over the surface of what could never be said, because that was unfathomable and would never be bridged. Harold returned to his temporary room, and rinsed his clothes. He pictured their separate beds at 13 Fossebridge Road and wondered when exactly she had stopped opening her mouth as they kissed. Was it before, or after?

Harold woke at dawn, surprised and thankful that he could walk, but this time he was weary. The heating was too much and the night had seemed long and confined. He couldn’t help feeling that, even though Maureen had not said it, what she was implying about his retirement fund was correct. He should not be spending it solely on himself and without her approval.

Though, God knows, it was a long time since he had done anything to impress her.

♦