Dead Writers in Rehab. Paul Bassett Davies

to say to Paula. ‘It can get chilly in the evenings.’ And she’d smile and shake her head, as if I were being silly and overprotective, and I’d have to persuade her to take some warmer clothes, especially if we were going on one of the expeditions into the countryside she loved. ‘So English,’ she’d say. And she would end up taking one of her pretty little cardigans that were completely useless. Then later we’d be sitting outside a pub, and as the late summer shadows lengthened she would shiver, and say, ‘You were right, darling,’ and I would drape the thin material around her delicate little shoulders and pull her towards me, and she would nestle herself against me, and say, ‘You’re always right.’ Then she would kiss me.