His death had stolen my heart away, and for a year, I had no interest in searching for it back. But then, at eleven in the morning, when I hadn’t quite finished my tea in bed, there was a knock on my door. Christine, a neighbour from three doors down, stood next to my withering pansies, which matched her yellow shoes. They were a bit too bright for my liking.

‘We haven’t properly met yet. I’ve been meaning to come over, but you know how busy life gets,’ she said, although I didn’t. Not recently. ‘I wondered if you’d like to join me for yoga on the beach this afternoon.’

‘Yoga…’ I echoed emptily, unsure if she had come to the right door. Couldn’t she see my blue candyfloss dressing gown? Did I look like the sort who would do yoga? I couldn’t help touching my crinkled cheek. Since his death, it had turned into foil, as if someone had been scrunching and rolling it back out. Lines appeared each morning, one after another.

‘It starts in about an hour. I’ll drive us, and we can go together if you’d like?’ Her eyes were as bright as her shoes. She stared at me, waiting eagerly. Did she know about his death?

‘I don’t have appropriate clothing,’ I said.

‘That’s alright! Wear whatever is comfortable.’

‘But I’m old,’ I said, thinking it best to state the obvious to a woman who seemed oblivious to what was right in front of her.

She guffawed as though I had told her to take a bite out of my dressing gown as if it really was made out of candyfloss.

‘Excuse me,’ I interrupted.

‘I’m sorry.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘I’m Christine. You’re Joy? Carol, down the road, mentioned you and…’

‘I do not want your pity.’ My body hardened, and I went to shut the door, but her yellow shoe wedged itself in the gap.

‘It’s not just yoga. A bunch of us get together every Saturday to support one another. Some have lost spouses, and others, children. It’s not about age. And it’s not pity.’ Then she smiled, a sort of smile I used to see in my Alan’s face, and my shoulders fell so low that I hadn’t realised how high I had been holding them.

I stretched out my pale hand. ‘I’m Joy.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Joy. I’ll pick you up in one hour. Go and get that dressing gown off.’ She winked and clip-clopped down my garden path. Apparently, I had agreed to go with this woman to yoga.

I picked up the photo of Alan and me courting on his bedside table and kissed him. His smile seemed to kiss me back. I untied my dressing gown and laid it on our bed. It was about time I folded it away. After a bowl of Bran Flakes and a small glass of orange juice, I slipped on some old trainers I only ever used when Alan and I washed the car together. He bought them for me and told me they were Nike, and that I’d look trendy.

There came a knock on my door at ten past twelve. I wondered if this woman’s watch was slow. I had planned to let her know.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked. Her yellow heels had transformed into yellow sandals.

The street was quiet for midday. The sun beamed on Christine’s little ruby car.

She offered her hand again, and I clasped it.

When I shut the front door behind me, it felt final in some way, but in another way, it was only the beginning because, from that day on, my trainers took me on a journey in search of my heart that had been stolen a year ago. Suffice it to say, I found it. All thanks to Alan. And Miss Yellow Shoes.