"My earliest memory is of you, Arthur. We were children, running across the garden at Granny's house. The sun on your hair made it look like copper wire. Then you stopped, and I cannoned into you. We both went headlong into the rockery. It was 1964, the summer before I started school, so I was nearly five. You would have been just three. It's strange, isn't it? That my first memory is of you. Or maybe it isn't very strange at all." Prudence...