Early evening showing

Our good friend Bill (no doubt Sue had a hand in it too) played a blinder: fresh sandwiches, home-made soup and a pretty good bottle of wine.

Afterwards, as I made free with the room's "generous tea & coffee making facilities", Kate outlined her plan to me. Among other things, it involved her walking up to the front door of the facility where Jen was held, using mobile phones as our principal weapons and me doing my thing with some of my new-found talents.

The way I felt, I was only glad she hadn't got me flying into the place - but I hadn't liked the look on her face when I'd mentioned it. It was the look of someone thinking about using a new toy.

When she'd finished, she asked "well? Actually, no. Don't say anything now. I want you to sleep on it, and then we can talk some more in the morning. Sound all right with you?"

To be honest, it did. I liked the boldness of her plan, but couldn't decide whether it was brilliant or mad. I decided not to share this thought. Instead, I said, "for what it's worth, I like it. It's definitely the best plan we've got."

She smiled, knowing I meant it was the only plan we'd got. "Anyway, like I said, it'll keep till morning. What do you fancy doing tonight? They'd got some DVDs downstairs. Want me to pick one when I take the tray back?"

It seemed like a good idea; we were both knackered, and vegging in front of a take-your-brain-out blockbuster seemed like a good way to unwind.

Instead, Kate chose A Matter of Life and Death. I'd never seen it, though she said it was one of her favourite films.

I could see what she meant. Although a lot of it was quite corny and old-fashioned, it was a very clever story, and some of the scenes in it - like the giant moving staircase going up to heaven - were just brilliant.

I was about whether David Niven, who's a pilot in the war, lives or dies. In the end of course, he gets to live and gets the girl; I thought it was a bit obvious, but it had to end like that, really - people needed a happy ending in those days. Still do, I suppose.

Kate though, she was getting a bit tearful towards the end, and probably not just because of the story: there was something about David Niven's doctor friend in the film - brilliant, decent, a bit of a father figure - that reminded me of Mr Smith. From the look of things, he was on Kate's mind, too.

As the credits rolled, I put my arm around her and gave what I hoped was a friendly hug. She nestled into me, and without thinking, I said "time for bed, do you think?"

There was a heavy, silent pause - a moment that seemed to last forever. To break it, I said, "come on - we could both do with getting some shut-eye. You don't snore, do you?"

She chuckled in a playing-along way. "No," she replied. "But I warn you - I will nick all the duvet."



Story begins here.