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because, along with 99% of the human race at one time or another in their lives, you’ll have been stood up. Just like a real person. ’
    ‘Do you still like him?’
    ‘ Yes. ’
    I drank some more tea, watching him through my eyelashes.
    He sighed. ‘ Yes, I think he likes you too. Good grief, it’s like living with a teenager again. ’
    I was ready to leave the house by half past nine. Thomas held out until ten, finally giving in, saying we could walk really slowly and window-shop on the way. So we walked really slowly and window-shopped on the way. It was raining, and I kept hitting people with my umbrella.
    Eventually, he agreed it probably was best just to go and wait at the post office. ‘ Before you blind someone. ’
    We waited an anxious fifteen minutes. ‘He’s not coming,’ I said.
    ‘ It’s only just coming up to eleven. He’s a single man with a hangover looking for a parking space. We’ll be lucky to see him at all before noon. Just relax. ’
    So we stood on the steps and watched people skitter by in the rain. At only a few minutes past eleven, someone tooted. Russell Checkland solved his parking problems by simply stopping wherever he wanted to be and waiting for people to go to him.
    I threaded my way through parked cars and he leaned over and opened the door for me.
    ‘ Umbrella, ’ reminded Thomas, guessing correctly that sensible thinking had taken the morning off. I wrestled away while a cacophony of horns built up and the massed rank of Mrs Pargeter, our Traffic Warden, bore down upon us.
    Flustered and wet, I fell into his old Land Rover. It smelled very odd and one of those pine-scented fir trees hanging lop-sided from the mirror had long since given up.
    ‘Good morning,’ he said, pulling out into traffic to a fresh barrage of tooting. ‘Nasty day. Did you get into much trouble last night?’
    I shook my head. I’d slipped away as soon as we got home and I think both Aunt Julia and Uncle Richard were so relieved not to have to dust off their parenting skills that they let me go.
    ‘ Ask him how he is, ’ said Thomas. ‘ Remember your manners. ’
    ‘How are you?’
    ‘Absolutely fine. Slept like a log. Feel great. Jennies to pick up. Buckets to buy.’
    ‘Why?’
    Thank God he understood verbal shorthand and that he could chat enough for both of us.
    ‘For the roof. It leaks on the north side. My father did most of the roof a couple of years ago and he left that side because it wasn’t too bad but now it is. So, buckets.’
    ‘Can it be fixed?’
    ‘Easily, if you happen to have thousands of pounds. I don’t, so a quick trip to the hardware store and a cost of about thirty quid instead. Clever, eh?’
    I nodded and we splashed into the car park. I’d never been to one of these places before. I’m pretty certain Uncle Richard hadn’t either and I’m damn sure Aunt Julia never had. I tried to imagine Francesca in something white and gauzy wafting up and down the aisles buying grout and emulsion and failed. Really failed.
    ‘This way,’ said Russell, striding off and I followed on behind.
    Thomas was full of it. ‘ Wow! Look at this. What’s that? Good grief, why have we never been here before? This place is magic. What’s that for? ’
    We found the buckets. Plastic and multi-coloured.
    ‘What colour?’ I asked.
    ‘All of them,’ he said, chucking eight into his trolley. ‘Let’s nip over to “Gardening” and see if they’ve got any metal ones. They can double up for ashes and Boxer.’
    The morning began to take on a slightly surreal feeling.
    We got two galvanised buckets and queued up at the cash point. Russell pulled out his wallet and frowned.
    ‘Problem?’
    ‘I’m trying to remember which card is least likely to be rejected. Let’s try – the blue one.’
    Credit card rejection was a whole new world to me and I waited breathlessly for this new experience. But not today. With an astonishing amount of electronic beeping, we were