Eight weeks of that.
And in the February he went to the volunteer office and asked for an application form, and the woman who runs it — who is called Pauline and who is seventy — knew exactly who he was and gave him one.
And since then: Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, tea and biscuits and a trolley.
And about four hundred people in that building have seen him in that polo shirt, and not one of them said anything to me, because every one of them assumed I knew.
Which is the thing I keep coming back to.
Nobody kept a secret from me. There was no conspiracy and nobody was protecting him.
Four hundred people simply assumed that a man's wife would know what he had been doing for eleven months.
And the March of 2025, which is the one I would take back if I were allowed one.
There was a woman at the school gate called Bea whose husband is an anaesthetist at St Jerome's.
