First para tidied up. bits tweaked.

She walked up the path between the manicured lawns, a sad smile on her face. Her eyes looked from side to side, not sure where to look on the long walk up to him. She had made an effort this morning, as befit the occasion, taking care over her makeup. He had always told her that ‘she scrubbed up nicely’, when they were together. Her coat was a couple of years out of date, but it was the one she had so wanted for Jill’s wedding. He had bought it for just like that, not even making one of his silly jokes about the price.

"You’re late." He didn’t mean it in a nasty way. It was one of those running jokes people have when they have known each other well.

She shrugged, her smile becoming a little less sad, a little more like it had been back then. "I had to make myself look pretty for you, didn’t I?"

"You always looked pretty to me. You’ve never had to tart yourself up, you know that. A bit of soap and water and you scrub up a treat."

She gave a little chuckle at his words so closely mirroring her thoughts just a moment ago. She sat on the park bench, carefully smoothing out the coat so that it didn’t crease.

"’Scrub up a treat’? You always had such a way with words."

"It’s my roguish charm. It’s the cross I have to carry."

She smiled. It was true, he had a silver tongue. He had walked up to her at that party and made her laugh the whole night long. But he was a looker too. He always pooh-poohed the idea, but he was. Not in the pretty-boy fashion of the current cinema heartthrobs, but he had a ruggedly handsome look the night they had met that was always there despite the years that passed.

"So, what’s the gossip? What’s been going on?" he asked.

"Well, Jill told me that she and Tom were thinking about starting a family soon."

"That’s good. She’ll make a fantastic mother. Tom too. I always liked him."

She snorted derisively. "Is that why you threatened to bury him under the patio?"

"Oh, I was only playing, he knew that. He knew I would have killed him before burying him. How’s his drinking problem?"

She shook his head. "Once! Once you’ve seen him drunk, and can you blame the poor man? The only way he could work up courage to ask you for Jill’s hand was to get drunk. You were a real monster to him when they were courting."

"Hehe. I had to make sure he loved her, didn’t I? Besides, we made up. I like Tom. He’d make a good Dad. Is she ever going to visit me?"

Her smile disappeared. She looked out over the horizon. "Give her time. She’s still angry you left. She misses you terribly, only you know how independent she is. She won’t admit it. But she misses you. She loved you. It really hurt her when you left."

Jill had always fought her Dad. The rows were legendary. It was because they were so alike. But the next day they would be tight again, father and daughter giggling conspiratorially over some private joke she could never fathom.

She looked down at her unsensible shoes, so inappropriate for the grass lawns. "I miss you, too."

"Sorry." His voice was quiet, embarrassed.

She shrugged, sniffed and put on a brave smile. "Oh well, water under the bridge. Let’s see, what else is happening? Oh, I finally got rid of Bessie."

"No! That was a great car. Remember taking Jill to University? That guy couldn’t believe the number of trips we made between the car and her dorm. He said it was like a David Copperfield trick."

She laughed. "Yes. Still, there’s no point keeping it now, what with it being so big and there just being me.

"Oh, you were right about getting a job, as well. It really has taken me out of myself."

"See? I told you you’d enjoy it. I always felt guilty, you know. Leaving you all alone in the house, bringing Jill up, doing the housework, while I swanned off to work with my mates. Are they a nice bunch?"

She looked down and fiddled with the buttons on her coat. "Yes, they’re friendly. We all get on really well. We went out to the pub Friday. The younger girls got a bit raucous for me. Getting old, I guess."

She continued to fiddle with the coat, picking at invisible threads.

"What’s up?" He had that gentle voice that he used when he was concerned, serious. She always thought of it as his Hot Chocolate voice. She could curl herself up with it and forget the world.

"I’m seeing someone." She bit her lip. It still seemed a betrayal, even though he had left her. Even though it had been nearly two years.

There was silence. She felt a sudden panic. Had she lost him now as a friend, as well as a husband?

"What’s he like?" he asked quietly.

"He’s really, really nice. He works in the same building, but a different firm. He’s ever-so shy, but you’d like him. He’s got a sense of humour, not like yours, but he smiles a lot. We’ve been to the pictures a couple of times, and for drinks. Nothing, you know, heavy or anything. But we’ve sort of been dating for five or six weeks."

Why? Why did she need his approval, after all this time? But she did. She was desperate for it. If he didn’t give it, she didn’t know what she would do.

"Does he make you smile, too?"

She nodded, eyes fixed on her coat.

"One more question. The big one. And I want an honest answer. Is he a United supporter?"

She laughed, almost sobbing with relief. "No. City. You know I’d never date a United fan."

"Love, I don’t know why you waited this long. If he makes you happy, that’s great. I really mean it. No-one deserves to be happy more than you. Does he know about us?"

She nodded.

"Well, when he’s ready, bring him round. I’d like to meet him. No rush though. And you’ve got to get on with your life, hun. Move on. You don’t have to keep making these dates with me every week."

She shook her head. "As if I’d ever stop seeing you, silly."

And she sat there, smiling, happy in the comfortable silence between them. Looking out over the lines of stones and wilting wreathes.