‘No.’ He pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest, blinking slowly. ‘Sorry, Bess, I’m just a bit nervous – that’s why I thought the champagne might, you know . . .’ He nodded over at the bottle, its neck emerging from the metal bucket on the table by the window, warming in the sunshine. ‘So, you were telling me about your route here. Please carry on. Mine was a pig of a journey too. There’s a sewage pipe broken in Duke Street; traffic was gridlocked.’

‘That’ll be murder come the school run.’ She sipped gingerly at her murky water. ‘It’s sort of a crossroads between the St Bede’s primary and secondary and the new academy.’

They fell silent for a moment or two and she wondered if he, like her, was thinking how this was exactly the kind of conversation they might conduct if they bumped into each other in the cul de sac. Only weirder.

‘I lost my job.’

‘You what, sorry?’ She thought she might have misheard, so random was the admission.

‘I lost my job. My company, they downsized and kept the junior roles – cheaper salaries, you see, and so easier to manage financially. But I was let go. Twenty-three years I worked for them.’ He swallowed. ‘Man and boy, as my old dad would have said, but actually it was just man. I was twenty-nine when I started there. Only took the job because I failed my accountancy exams. Helen laughed when I told her I was going to work there: “Roller blinds!” she said. “You’re going to sell roller blinds?”’ He looked at Bess, his expression thoughtful. ‘But it wasn’t just roller blinds – we sold Roman blinds, venetian blinds and ready-made curtains. In over three hundred and seventy-four choices of fabric. Three hundred and seventy-four!’

His words were shot through with emotion. The whole thing made her feel incredibly sad. It was about as far from sexy as she could imagine.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. So how are you spending your time?’

‘Well, I’ve been here all day waiting, hoping that you might show up, and you did.’ He smiled weakly.

‘So where does Helen think you are?’

‘At work.’ He rolled his eyes.

‘But you’ve lost your—’

‘Yes,’ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘but I just haven’t been able to tell her yet.’

Bess swivelled on the bed to face him. His words were familiar and yet bizarre. She understood only too well what it was like to keep something historic from the person you loved, but to not be able to tell your partner you had lost your job? She was curious but not judgemental, knowing what it felt like to withhold parts of your life that were too difficult to share.

‘Why haven’t you told her?’