“What if David doesn’t come?” I asked Aidan after three weeks had passed with no sign of him.

“He will.”

“But what if he doesn’t? I mean, supposing he’s ill, or working on another film, or—”

“Clara, will you stop worrying about things that have not happened, and may never happen?”

“But that is what worrying is! Once something’s happened, there’s no point.”

He looked at me in exasperation. We were dawdling along the main street, our arms full of loaves of bread and tomatoes and cheese from the market. It was past one o’clock; the sun was getting strong. I had on the hat from which I refused to be separated, and a thin dress. My legs were already so tanned I had no need for stockings. Mam, who was of the generation that favoured pale skin on legs and everywhere else, would stare when she saw them. But Florence and Mary would be delighted. Mary always looked much better when her face caught the sun and her freckles emerged, and she knew it. She never wore a sunhat.

“Why are you dreading David’s arrival?” asked Aidan accusingly. “Everything will be perfectly all right!”

“Will it? Supposing he doesn’t go along with what I suggest? Supposing he’s contrite, and falls to his knees or something? You can’t predict what he’ll do.”

“Clara, stop worrying!” We had reached the courtyard. Aidan shifted his packages and fumbled in the pocket of his trousers for the key. “Don’t think about what David will or won’t do, or whether he’ll even arrive in the first place. Think about what you are going to do, which is much more important. You always show more concern for other people than yourself.”

“Yes,” I said with a sigh as we began to climb the stairs. “I have been told that I have a tendency to do that.”

“Look.” He put the shopping down and reached for his cigarettes. “After lunch we’ll do a proper rehearsal, all right?” He searched his pockets for his lighter. “Just like we used to do on Innocence. I’ll be David, and we’ll try to cover every eventuality. Does that make you feel better?”

I did not answer.

“Where the devil’s that blessed lighter? Oh, these’ll do.” He took the kitchen matches from the shelf, lit his cigarette and threw the spent match into the sink. He caught sight of my face and his expression changed. “What’s the matter? You’re not going to get cold feet at the last minute, are you?”