Sam grinned as I emerged, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. ‘You look about twelve.’

I went into the bathroom, wrung out my jeans, shirt and socks in the sink, then hung them over the shower curtain.

‘What’s cooking?’

‘Well, I was going to do a salad, but it’s not really salad weather any more. So I’m improvising.’

He had set a pot of water boiling on the stove, where it had fogged the windows. ‘You eat pasta, right?’

‘I eat anything.’

‘Excellent.’

He opened a bottle of wine and poured me a glass, motioning me to the bench seat. In front of me the little table had been laid for two, and I felt a faint frisson at the sight. It was okay just to enjoy a moment, a small pleasure. I had been out dancing. I had flashed some hens. And now I was going to enjoy spending an evening with a man who wanted to cook me dinner. It was all progress, of sorts.

Perhaps Sam detected something of this internal struggle because he waited until I took my first sip, then said, while stirring something on the hob, ‘Was that the boss you were talking about? That man today?’

The wine was delicious. I took another sip. I hadn’t dared drink while Lily had been with me: I might have let my guard down. ‘Yup.’

‘I know the type. If it’s any consolation, within five years he’ll either have a stomach ulcer or enough hypertension to cause erectile dysfunction.’

I laughed. ‘Both those thoughts are oddly comforting.’

Finally he sat down, presenting me with a steaming bowl of pasta. ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising a glass of water. ‘And now tell me what’s going on with this long-lost girl of yours.’

Oh, but it was such a relief to have someone to talk to. I was so unused to people who actually listened – as opposed to those, at the bar, who only wanted to hear the sound of their own voices – that talking to Sam was a revelation. He didn’t interrupt, or tell me what he thought, or what I should do. He listened, and nodded, and topped up my wine and said, finally, when it was long dark outside, ‘It’s quite a responsibility you’ve taken on.’

I leaned back on the bench and put my feet up. ‘I don’t feel like I have a choice. I keep asking myself what you said: what would Will want me to do?’ I took another sip. ‘It’s harder than I’d imagined, though. I thought I’d just drop her in to meet her grandmother and grandfather and everyone would be delighted and it would be a happy ending, like those reunion programmes on television.’

He studied his hands. I studied him.

‘You think I’m mad getting involved.’

‘No. Too many people follow their own happiness without a thought for the damage they leave in their wake. You wouldn’t believe the kids I pick up at the weekends, drunk, drugged, off their heads, whatever. The parents are wrapped up in their own stuff, or have disappeared completely, so they exist in a vacuum, and they make bad choices.’

‘Is it worse than it used to be?’

‘Who knows? I only know I see all these messed up kids. And that the hospital’s young persons’ psych has a waiting list as long as your arm.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Hold that soapbox. I need to shut the birds up for the night.’

I wanted to ask him then how someone so apparently wise could be so careless of his own son’s feelings. I wanted to ask if he knew how unhappy Jake was. But it seemed a bit too confrontational, given the way he was talking, and the fact that he had just cooked me a very nice supper … I was distracted by the sight of the hens popping one at a time into their coop, and then he came back, bringing with him the faint scents of outside, and the cooler air, and the moment passed.

He poured more wine, and I drank it. I let myself take pleasure in the snugness of the little railway carriage, and the sensation of a properly full belly, and I listened to Sam talk. He told of nights holding the hands of elderly people who didn’t want to make a fuss, and of management targets that left them all demoralized, feeling they weren’t doing the job they’d been trained for. I listened, losing myself in a world far from my own, watching his hands draw animated circles in the air, his rueful smile when he felt he was taking himself too seriously. I watched his hands. I watched his hands.

I coloured slightly as I realized where my thoughts were headed, and took another swig of my wine to hide it. ‘Where’s Jake tonight?’

‘Barely seen him. At his girlfriend’s, I think.’ He looked rueful. ‘She has this Waltons-style family, about a billion brothers and sisters and a mum who’s home all day. He likes hanging out there.’ He took another sip of his water. ‘So where’s Lily?’

‘Don’t know. I texted her twice but she hasn’t bothered to reply.’

The sheer presence of him. It was like he was twice as large and twice as vivid as other men. My thoughts kept drifting, pulled on tides towards his eyes, which narrowed slightly as he listened, as if he were trying to ensure he had understood me perfectly … The faint hint of stubble on his jaw, the shape of his shoulder under the soft wool of his jumper. My gaze kept sliding downwards to his hands, resting on the table, fingers absently tapping on the surface. Such capable hands. I remembered the tenderness with which he had cradled my head, the way I had held on to him in the ambulance as if he were the only thing anchoring me. He looked at me and smiled, a gentle enquiry in it, and something in me turned molten. Would it be so bad, as long as my eyes were open?

‘You want a coffee, Louisa?’

He had this way of looking at me. I shook my head.

‘Do you want –’

Before I could think about it, I leaned across the little table, reached for the back of his head and kissed him. He hesitated for just a moment then shifted forward, and kissed me back. At some point I think someone knocked over a wineglass but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to kiss him for ever. I blocked out all thoughts about what this was, what it might mean, what further mess I might create for myself. C’mon, live, I told myself. And I kissed him until reason seeped out through my pores and I became a living pulse, alive only to what I wanted to do to him.

He pulled back first, slightly dazed. ‘Louisa –’

A piece of cutlery clattered to the floor. I stood and he stood, and pulled me to him. And suddenly we were crashing around the little railway carriage, all hands and lips and, oh God, the scent and taste and feel of him. It was like tiny fireworks going off all over me, bits of me I’d thought dead reigniting into life. He picked me up and I wrapped myself around him, all bulk and strength and muscle. I kissed his face, his ear, my fingers in his soft dark hair. And then he stood me back down and we were inches apart, his eyes on me, his expression a silent question.