I dismounted from the bike and started to take off his jacket. But he pushed down his kickstand with his heel. ‘It’s late. Let me at least see you upstairs.’

I hesitated. ‘Okay. If you wait I can give you back your clothes.’

I tried to sound insouciant. He gave a shrug and followed me to the door.

We emerged from the stairwell to the sound of music thumping down the hallway. I knew immediately where it was coming from. I limped briskly down the corridor, paused outside the flat and opened the door slowly. Lily stood in the middle of the hall, cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. She was wearing a yellow flowered dress I had bought from a vintage boutique, back in the days when I cared about what I wore. I stared – and it’s possible that when I registered what else she was wearing I stumbled: I felt Sam reach for my arm.

‘Nice leathers, Louisa!’

Lily pointed her toe. She was wearing my green glittery shoes. ‘Why don’t you wear these? You have all these crazy outfits yet you just wear, like, jeans and T-shirts and stuff every day. Sooo boring!’

She walked back into my room and emerged a minute later, holding up a gold seventies lamé jumpsuit I used to pair with brown boots. ‘I mean, look at this! I have total and utter jumpsuit envy right now.’

‘Get them off,’ I said, when I could speak.

‘What?’

‘Those tights. Get them off.’ My voice emerged strangled and unrecognizable.

Lily looked down at the black and yellow tights. ‘No, seriously though, you have some proper vintage gear in there. Biba, DVF. That purple Chanel type thing. Do you know what this stuff is worth?’

‘Get them off.’

Perhaps registering my sudden rigidity, Sam began to propel me forwards. ‘Look, why don’t we go through to the living room and –’

‘I’m not moving until she takes those tights off.’

Lily pulled a face.

‘Jesus. No need to have a baby about it.’

I watched, vibrating with anger, as Lily began to peel down my bumble-bee tights, kicking at them when they wouldn’t slide off her feet.

‘Don’t rip them!’

‘It’s just a pair of tights.’

‘They are not just a pair of tights. They were … a gift.’

‘Still a pair of tights,’ she muttered.

She finally got them off, leaving them in a black and yellow heap on the floor. In the other room I could hear the clatter of hangers as the rest of my clothes were presumably being hastily replaced.

A moment later, Lily appeared in the living room. In her bra and knickers. She waited until she could be sure she had our attention, then pulled a short dress slowly and ostentatiously over her head, wiggling as it went over her slim, pale hips. Then she smiled at me sweetly. ‘I’m going clubbing. Don’t wait up. Nice to see you again, Mr –’

‘Fielding,’ said Sam.

‘Mr Fielding.’ She smiled at me. A smile that wasn’t a smile at all. And with a slam of the door, she was gone.

I let out a shaky breath, then walked over and retrieved the tights. I sat down on the sofa and straightened them out, smoothing them until I could be sure there were no snags or cigarette burns.

Sam sat down beside me. ‘You okay?’ he said.

‘I’m know you must think I’m crazy,’ I said eventually, ‘but they were a –’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘I was a different person. They meant that – I was – he gave …’ My voice was choked.

We sat there in the silent flat. I knew I should say something but I was lost for words, and there was an enormous lump in my throat.

I took Sam’s jacket off, and held it out to him. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to stay.’

I felt his eyes on me but didn’t raise mine from the floor.

‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

And then, before I could say anything else, he was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I was late to the Moving On Circle that week. Having left me a coffee, perhaps in lieu of an apology, Lily had subsequently spilt green paint on the hall floor, left a tub of ice cream to melt on the side in the kitchen, taken my door keys, with my car key attached, because she couldn’t find her own, and borrowed my wig for a night out without asking. I had recovered it from the floor of her bedroom. When I put it on, I looked as if an Old English Sheepdog were doing something unmentionable to my head.

By the time I reached the church hall, everyone else was sitting down. Natasha moved obligingly so that I could take the plastic chair beside her.

‘Tonight we’re talking about signs that we might be moving on,’ said Marc, who was holding a mug of tea. ‘These don’t have to be huge things – new relationships, or throwing out clothes or whatever. Just small things that make us see there may be a way through grief. It’s surprising how many of these signs go unnoticed, or we refuse to acknowledge them because we feel guilty for moving forward.’

‘I joined a dating website,’ said Fred. ‘It’s called May to December.’

There was a low hum of surprise and approval.

‘That’s very encouraging, Fred.’ Marc sipped his tea. ‘What are you hoping to get from it? Some company? I remember you said you particularly missed having someone to go for a walk with on Sunday afternoons. Down by the duck pond, wasn’t it, where you and your wife used to go?’

‘Oh, no. It’s for internet sex.’

Marc spluttered. There was a brief pause while someone handed him a tissue to mop the tea off his trousers.

‘Internet sex. That’s what they’re all doing, isn’t it? I’ve joined three sites.’ Fred held up his hand, counting them off on his fingers. ‘May to December, that’s for young women who like older men, Sugar-Papas, for young women who like older men with money, and … um … Hot Studs.’ He paused. ‘They weren’t specific.’

There was a short silence.

‘It’s nice to be optimistic, Fred,’ said Natasha.

‘How about you, Louisa?’

‘Um …’ I hesitated, given Jake was in front of me, and then thought, What the hell? ‘I actually went on a date this weekend.’

There was a low woo-hoo! from other members of the group. I looked down a little sheepishly. I couldn’t even think about that night without colour seeping into my face.