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she tried not to show it.
    They set out from the front of the Assembly, walking down the steps to the sea, and then on towards the far end of the Bay. It was a cold, grey day, and there weren’t many people
about.
    ‘So, how are things?’ Bob had pushed his specs up into his hair, and was narrowing his eyes against the bitter wind.
    ‘Fine, really. Busy. You?’
    ‘Not too bad. Hanging on in there.’ He paused. Jess sensed there was something he wanted to tell her. Perhaps that was why he’d asked her to lunch.
    They walked on in silence. Jess looked at the paving stones to the side of the walkway, where there were a series of carvings set into the stone like fossils: shapes of seaweed, starfish, wet
sand, birds’ footprints, mermaid’s purses, shells. Sculpted into the stone, running along the top, was a wavy, indented line, like a trail – or perhaps it symbolized the
water’s edge.
    ‘Shall we try the Norwegian Church?’ she said. ‘They’ve done it up.’
    ‘If you want. But it’s just soup and sandwiches, really. I wanted to treat you.’
    ‘Thanks. That’s sweet of you, Bob.’ There it was again, that stiff politeness. ‘Actually, I’d rather something . . . you know, informal.’
    ‘Fine.’ He looked a little downcast, but he didn’t try to argue.
    They walked on. Jess went back to following the trail marked out on the stones. Just as they came up to the little wooden church, it petered out. She’d never noticed that before. She
wondered whether it had been the artist’s intention for that to happen, or whether the council had just run out of money, decommissioning the sculpture at an arbitrary point. Whichever it
was, it disturbed her slightly; something so familiar, that she’d assumed had a meaning, suddenly ending like that, for no good reason.
    When they reached the Norwegian Church, they went inside and took a table by the window, with a view over the Bay. In the distance, you could see ships at sea, so far out that they barely
appeared to move. The cafe was a cosy little place, the wooden walls festooned with twinkling lights, the windows slightly steamed up, a tempting smell of coffee in the air.
    Jess ordered the fisherman’s lunch – sweet herrings, mostly – while Bob decided on beef burger, salt potatoes and a couple of bottles of Hereford ale, one for each of them.
Jess didn’t resist. She rarely drank at lunchtime, but that afternoon she was due to go to the funeral of one of her ex-patients, and she felt she needed a spot of Dutch courage.
    When the beers came, together with rosemary bread and olive oil, they made conversation for a while, dunking the bread in the oil, and then she said, ‘So what is it you’ve got to
tell me?’
    ‘How d’you know I’ve got something to tell you?’
    ‘You never normally take me out to lunch.’
    He grinned. The beer was beginning to relax them both.
    ‘I suppose you’re right. But you know how it is. We’re both busy . . .’
    Jess nodded.
    ‘Anyway . . . well, I was going to wait until later to tell you.’
    ‘Later?’
    ‘Over pudding, coffee.’
    She laughed. ‘You mean a bottle of wine later.’
    Bob looked pained. ‘I just wanted to enjoy being with you for a bit before I told you. Just in case you—’
    ‘Oh go on, Bob, spit it out. Whatever it is.’
    ‘OK.’
    But then the food came, and they started to eat, aware that in a few moments the chance to savour their food might vanish, if things became awkward.
    ‘I must say, you’re looking really nice, Jess.’ Bob swallowed a mouthful, leaned over, and poured Jess more beer. ‘Is that a new dress?’
    Jess had taken her coat off. Underneath she was wearing a fitted plum-coloured dress in fine wool, with a line of tiny silk-covered buttons at the bodice.
    ‘I’ve had this for ages. Haven’t you ever noticed it before?’
    ‘Oh. I’m not sure.’ He was flustered. ‘Shall we get another beer?’
    ‘No thanks. I don’t want to be weaving up the