As Cora moved slowly up and down the supermarket aisles wondering what Holly might like for tea, she felt she had turned a corner in what had become a mundane, uneventful existence.

Holly had left the house earlier to go into town and find herself a job, apparently. Although Cora had assured her there was no rush to pay rent or anything of that sort, at least for a few weeks, Holly had been insistent. It was rather a shame, just when they were getting to know each other; and Cora thought of her very much as a visitor, rather than a temporary lodger.

She selected a two-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk and laid it in the rickety trolley with a wonky wheel that she was having trouble pushing in a straight line.

Still, who’d have thought things could turn around so completely in a single afternoon, and so out of the blue like that?

Cora had been standing at the end of a short queue in the post office, waiting to purchase a book of stamps. That had been her sole reason for leaving the house that day, as she only sorted out the bank business twice a week. She’d needed to post a couple of cheques for bills and realised she’d run out of stamps.

She didn’t like all this online banking business, nor the thought of direct debit payments that gave the energy companies cash before she’d even received the full quarter’s service.

What was the world coming to? What had happened to paying the correct amount for a service actually received and used? Harold had always refused to give out his bank details to companies.

‘Blighters can take what they like once I grant them access to my funds,’ he would roar upon receiving a letter informing him he could save money by paying in regular monthly instalments.

My funds. He’d always referred to it as his money, and she’d had to ask for every penny she needed.

She’d never in a million years have been able to take a person like Holly in if Harold had still been around. Even completely bed-bound – as he was for the best part of a year before he died – he’d have caused a big fuss if Cora had brought someone in need back home, even if it was to stay with them just temporarily.

He’d even forbidden Cora from giving loose change to that poor homeless chap and his dog who sat on the corner of the high street in all weathers, for goodness’ sake. Harold had always maintained that ‘homelessness is a lifestyle choice’. What utter nonsense.

Sadly, against her better judgement, Cora had allowed him to get away with his dictatorial manner for all of their married life, and it was only really once he’d gone that her anger had surfaced. She had finally realised the impact his bigoted attitudes had had on her own life. Nobody had ever wanted to befriend them; people preferred to stay away.

It had to be said that when Harold died, there had been a welcome new sense of freedom that Cora had never experienced before.

Harold had cleverly always insisted he only imposed certain measures and precautions to keep her safe.

‘You’re too gullible to be out on your own, love,’ he’d say. ‘I’ll come with you, make sure nobody tries anything on.’

As a young, newly married woman, Cora had initially been flattered, but of course it soon dawned on her that her husband was controlling her for his own selfish reasons. He wanted to ensure she was there just for him; he didn’t want to share her with anyone else: friends, acquaintances, even children. Harold had never wanted children.

As usual, a wave of sadness came with the realisation of so many lost opportunities.

The mood gripped her until she reached for the rich butter biscuits that Harold would certainly have forbidden her to buy because of the extortionate cost. She placed two packets carefully in the trolley and allowed herself a smug grin.

Sometimes she was too hard on herself, she knew that. It wasn’t at all easy, in those days, to escape a difficult marriage. With no job and no friends, Cora had felt paralysed to do anything about her circumstances. It had simply been easier to put up and shut up.

She knew a lot of women hid their true feelings for one reason or another.

Take Holly. She seemed a nice enough young woman, but Cora wasn’t fooled by the happy-go-lucky character she seemed fond of displaying on the surface. You didn’t live as many years as Cora had without garnering a sense of people, and she was absolutely certain that there was more to her young visitor than met the eye.

She’d thought as much that day when she’d abandoned the post office queue and gone to speak to the sobbing undernourished waif who seemed utterly inconsolable that she wasn’t able to get her twenty pounds from the counter.

Even though some customers had shown their disapproval, and others their pity, Cora had sensed there was a determined young woman underneath the frail exterior who was in need of neither.

She would be loath to admit it to anyone else, but as she had been trying to comfort Holly, the thought had occurred to her that without Harold around to dictate her actions, she might view this wretched young person as a sort of personal project.

She could offer assistance and help guide her to a more fulfilling life, while bagging herself a companion in the process.

After all, wasn’t that what ladies used to do in times gone by? They’d advertise and pay for a female companion so they didn’t have to put up with the achingly long hours of loneliness that Cora herself had suffered with no prospect of respite.

The Victorians got a lot of things right, and they set great stock by order and routine, just like Cora herself.

It had occurred to her that day that this could be a match made in heaven. It was all a matter of striking the right balance to break through the generation gap.

She had begun by regaling Holly with interesting stories about her life. Holly had seemed genuinely interested and this had encouraged Cora to continue.

She’d asked her visitor a couple of pointed questions about her own past, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that each time, Holly had cleverly – or so she thought – refrained from answering by luring Cora back into her own reminiscing.

But she was in no rush. She could wait.

When Holly was prepared to open up a bit and trust her with her personal history, then Cora would tell her the truth.

That was, the truth about what Harold was really like.

Not the other truth.

She didn’t intend telling anyone about that until she’d made up her mind exactly what to do.