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Christmas shopping, and writing a hundred cards to clients past and present. A week in hospital would probably be a respite, anxiety or no. But now it seemed she’d have to start the hideous waiting process all over again. Even with private medicine, surgeons couldn’t fit you in at the drop of a hat if you happened to miss your scheduled date. Besides, next week was Christmas, and after that Mr Hughes was going away for ‘a spot of winter sun’.
    Winter sun. If only … She was so cold her teeth were chattering and she had lost all feeling in her hands. She wished a genie would appear with a sheepskin coat and a pair of woolly gloves, although Ralph looked so morose that even a brace of genies was unlikely to console him. A grounded car, in his view, was much the same as a limp penis – a source of personal failure.
    She squeezed his hand (which at least felt warmer than her own). ‘Don’t worry,’ she mouthed. ‘It’s not your fault, darling.’
    Any reply he might have made was lost in the wail of a siren as a police car glided to a stop behind them, its blue lights flashing dramatically.
    â€˜Thank God!’ said Ralph. ‘They may be able to help.’
    One of the officers got out of the car – a short, squat man with sandy hair. ‘Hello, sir and madam. What appears to be the trouble?’
    Nothing, Lorna bit back – we’re just fresh-air fiends enjoying the first fall of snow this year.
    Fortunately Ralph did the explaining, then the policeman helped him push the car further off the road.
    Ralph brushed snow from his eyes. His hair was dishevelled, and there was a streak of oil down one cheek. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘my wife’s due in hospital for an operation.’
    â€˜Kingston? No trouble, sir, we can drive her there.’
    â€˜No, it’s the Princess Royal in north London.’
    â€˜In that case, sir, I’m afraid we won’t be able to help. If it was local we’d take you with pleasure. But look, I’ll check with the AA and see how long they’re going to be.’
    Lorna fought an urge to laugh. The situation was so awful it was funny. Even Aunt Agnes would have trouble coming up with some edifying remark. ‘You’re lucky to have a car at all’ perhaps.
    The policeman was soon back. ‘Ten minutes, they reckon. And in the meantime you’re welcome to sit in our vehicle rather than standing around in the cold.’
    Lorna followed him somewhat unwillingly. She had already been inside a police car, thirty years ago, when she had run away from school. The local Somerset constabulary had returned her promptly to an incandescent headmistress.
    â€˜I’m Andy, by the way. And this is my colleague Pete.’
    â€˜Oh, how do you do …’ Lorna introduced herself and Ralph, although Ralph’s curt nod signalled his disdain for such extraneous pleasantries on a busy road in blinding snow.
    â€˜You look drenched,’ said Pete. ‘But you’ll soon warm up in here.
    And if you’re feeling peckish I can offer you a bar of fruit and nut.’
    In 1971 there had been no offer of chocolate, only a stern talking-to and then, back at school, detention every night for a week and exeats cancelled for the rest of term. (Not that she minded about the exeats. She only went out when other children’s parents took pity on her, and she invariably felt superfluous.) ‘That’s kind of you. I’m sure my husband would love some.’ She handed the chocolate to Ralph, watching enviously as he broke off a couple of squares. ‘I’m not allowed to eat,’ she explained. ‘I’m having an operation. Well, that was the general idea. I suppose now it rather depends on the AA.’
    Pete turned round with a sympathetic smile. ‘I can imagine how you feel. Just yesterday we were called to another breakdown. The lady involved was nine months