“Only us," Mum called as she opened the front door and walked in. Fortunately both Gil and I were dressed, which I can't say was usually the case.

"How are you feeling, Gil?" Dad asked as I heard Mum fill the kettle.

"Good, thanks; it seems the little scare was just that, a little scare."

I heard Dad and Gil wander off, and I assumed that they were sorting out chairs in the garden. Mum, I could hear by the sink. Most people do not understand what a blind person sees, assuming, I believe, that they think we see nothing. I can't speak for others, but I have a mental image of areas I know.

My house, for example – I know where all my furniture is. I have walked past it often enough; I picture it in my head. To me, it's a picture, even if it looks different to a sighted person. When I am going somewhere new, I build an image based on what I hear, on what my stick encounters. It isn't detailed, but it is an image in my head.

At home, I can tell when things change, so Mum standing by the sink was in my picture; she wasn't a permanent fixture, but her scent and the sounds that she made as she pottered all filled in my picture. I walked over and hugged her.

"Hi Mum, how are you?" I asked.

"Oh, good, sweetheart, a few hot flushes, but, well, I am getting a little bit older, sweetheart."

"Oh crikey, did you expect that yet? I mean, you are not that old, are you?"

"Oh love, I have been waiting; I can't wait for the end of the monthlies."

Yes, I suppose, once you have had your children and don't want any more, the monthly periods can be a pain. Literally, as well as an inconvenience. My jabs at the doctors help me control that, and I am not sure if I will ever have children; that is a hell of an undertaking at the best of times, and blind? Well, it is not a decision I can take alone, and not one I have mentioned to Gil; that is far further in the future than we are thinking.

We sat in the garden drinking the tea that Mum made. I don't have a good mental image of the garden; the chairs can be put in a different place every time Dad puts them out, so my map changes every time. Bless him, Dad does try to put them in the same place, but even a few inches out meant bumped shins.

After Mum and Dad had gone, we cleared away; I sorted the kitchen, and Gil did the garden.

"Now then," he said in his best Yorkshire accent.

"Now then what?" I replied.

"How about a bit of us time?"

"Whatever do you mean, sir? Do you have designs on my body?"

"I most certainly do, oh yes."

"I see, and how do you intend to go about turning those designs into reality?"

The next thing I knew, my knees were being pushed apart, and his head was between my thighs, blowing across my knickers.

"Seems to be something in the way," he said.

"Oh well, best stop then."

"Oh, okay."

"Don't you dare," I laughed.

I felt his fingers at my waistband, and as I lifted my bum, he slid my knickers down. My fanny momentarily felt cool as the fresh air hit it. It warmed up quickly as his tongue ran along my crease sliding my labia out of the way. A wonderful tickling feeling coupled with the roughness of his tongue set my pleasures racing.

As his tongue worked my clitoris, my pleasures ramped up. As his fingers gently pushed inside me, my pressures grew and grew. His fingers turned and rotated inside me; they widened, they narrowed, and my fanny stretched and then squeezed him. His tongue dabbed at my clitoris and released and pushed hard and then gently. He pulled back, his fingers slowly left me, and he whispered to me.

"Let's go upstairs."

"Yes, yes, oh yes, but pass me my knickers first; I don't want to leave them on the floor for my mum or, worse, my dad to find."

The days went on, the weeks added up, and we were happy. I was blissfully happy. I did not know that I could ever be this happy; life was wonderful. We would do nothing some days; other days we would walk in the dales, and I would point at a sound, and Gil would describe what I was pointing at. My pictures of the world were being filled in. Mum and Dad came around less often; they could see that I was happy.

We got back from another walk; I used the loo, and then we sat and discussed tea. I wanted fish and chips; Gil fancied a Chinese. As is the way of life, Gil went out to get fish and chips. I smiled; he was such a love. I got the plates out ready and the knife and forks and the salt and vinegar and waited, and waited, and waited.

After over an hour of waiting, I rang Dad.

"I am not sure what to do, Dad. Gil went to get fish and chips about an hour and a half ago, and he hasn't come back, and his phone isn't answering."

"Okay, sweetheart," Dad said. "I'll nip out and have a look to see if they remember him at the chippie."

I put the phone down and sat in the lounge. I didn't know what else to do; I could only wait. After what seemed an eternity, my front door knocked. I got up and went to answer the door.

"Excuse me, miss," a female voice said, "does Gilbert Drummond live here?"

"I am sorry, who is asking?"

"Miss, I am PC Simmonds."

"Oh. I am blind. I am sorry; if you are wearing a uniform, then I wouldn't know."

"Is there somewhere we can go and sit, miss?"

"Why? What is this about? Where is Gil?" I was getting very scared. I did not want strange people in my house; I wanted Gil.

"Miss, I need to talk with you; can we go and sit somewhere, please?"

"Hello, love." Just then Dad's voice cut in. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go inside." I then heard Dad say, "I am Florence's father; let's go inside."

"What is happening, Dad? What is going on?" I was now very scared; my legs did not want to move. I felt rooted to the spot. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that my world was about to end. I felt a hand on my arm; it was Dad. I could tell by his aroma, and he led me into my sitting room, and he sat me in my armchair, not my usual sofa.

"Come in," Dad said, I presumed to the policewoman.

I heard feet moving, and then I heard the squeak as someone sat on my sofa. Dad was holding my hand and squeezing me. I didn't think I had ever been so scared in my life.

"Miss," the policewoman said, "there has been an accident."

"What hospital? Take me to the hospital, Dad, please, now." I said, my voice hurried and high-pitched, tears streaming from my eyes, that I needed to be by Gil's side to help him get better.

"Miss, I am afraid to tell you that Mr Drummond is deceased. I am so sorry."

I wailed, I screamed, I cried, I hit out at Dad, and I threw my stick; my world had ended.

"Get out, get out," I screamed, my Dad holding my hand and my shoulder, not letting me go.

The policewoman was saying something to Dad; I wasn't listening. I was sobbing; I was crying. I wanted Gil.

"Sweetheart," Mum's voice appeared from nowhere, "I came over by taxi." And then she was hugging me, and I was wailing some more, and I heard Dad in the distance shutting the front door and coming back into the room, and at that point I just lost it, and everything went dark.

It seemed that Gil's heart had stopped; his car had crashed into a wall, but he was dead before the crash. No one else was involved; it could have happened anytime, the doctors said. The funeral was dark, the skies heavy with rain. Dad said my heart was empty, the funeral home was full of people. I didn't care, and my love was gone.

I sat at home. I didn't do anything, I didn't go anywhere, the eyes on the world that Gil had gifted me had gone dark, and I had no interest in anything. I ate if Mum or Dad came over and prepared something; if they didn't, I didn't bother. Frankly, my life was over.

It was four months after Gil died. I was sitting in the lounge, simply wearing a dressing gown. I didn't really get dressed these days when I heard the front door open. I could tell from the footfall that it was Dad.

"Right then," Dad said, "go and get dressed; get a frock on. I am taking you out to lunch."

"No, Dad." I wasn't interested.

"Girl, you go and get dressed, or I will dress you. You are coming out with me, and unless you want the world to see your fanny and your boobs, then you will go and get dressed. Your dressing gown is undone, by the way."

So, Dad was seeing my bits. So what? I didn't care. I didn't care who saw me naked; Gil couldn't see me, and that is what mattered. I felt my arm being pulled, and I got to my feet. I trudged away and walked upstairs to my room. I took my dressing gown off and put it on the hook on my door; I had enough sense to put it where it should be, where I would find it when I needed it.

I opened my knickers drawer and took out the first pair I found and pulled them up. I then took a dress at random; I had no idea what colour it was. I just put it on and did up the zip. I didn't bother with a bra; I have virtually no bust, although Gil loved it, and a bra was an optional extra that I didn't need. I walked slowly downstairs, back to Dad.

"Right then, my girl, are you ready?"

I nodded; I wasn't really in the mood for talking. Dad took my hand, put my stick in my other hand and led me through my door to his car. As I sat in and did my seatbelt up, Dad went back and locked my house.

"Right," he said as he sat in the car. "We are going for a fish and chips lunch at Murgatroyd's."

"That's what killed Gil, going for my fish and chips. I'd rather not."

"No, that isn't what killed him; a faulty heart is what did for him. Fish and chips have always been your favourite food, and that is where I am taking you. Now you can sit in silence, or you can moan the whole way, or you can talk; I don't mind, but we are going to Murgatroyd's."

I sat silent, my head facing forwards. I couldn't see bends or obstructions, but I could keep a good sense of where we were going, except on fast roads like motorways where I couldn't really detect the bends. Dad was also a good driver; I rarely ever felt a sudden jolt or braking. I guessed that he read the road ahead, so I didn't have to.

"Right then," Dad said, "here we are let's get in and get sorted. I did ring up and book a table, so we shouldn't have to join the queue."

I undid my seatbelt and opened the car door and got out and deployed my stick. The aroma of fish and chips was intense, and despite my dejected and downcast feeling, the smell was making me sanguine, and my lips, much to my annoyance, were beginning to salivate. I grudgingly decided that Dads sometimes had a good idea. I took his arm and followed him into the restaurant.

Dad explained who we were and that we had a booking. I suspect he pointed out my white stick, but I couldn't be sure. We were led to a table, and I managed to sit down without banging my knees.

"This is a quiet table, guys," the woman who had taken us to our table said, "not too much passing traffic, so hopefully you won't get knocked too much. I will leave you to order, and I will be back to see what you want."

I heard Dad thank her, and then he read the menu to me. I had hardly eaten for some months, so a big meal was pointless. I went for a standard fish and chips lunch with a curry sauce and a pot of tea. It came with bread and butter, but I wouldn't be making a chip butty, not in public; they can be a tad challenging if you can't see what you are doing. The chips can be naughty and just pop out where you least expect them to.

Dad chose the same but added a scallop to go with his. The lady came back, and Dad gave the order. "Won't be too long," she said, and then we were alone again.

"Thank you, Dad," I said. The aroma just made me feel good no matter how much I didn't want to. I guessed it was a pity that Mum wasn't here but today was one of her days in the charity shop, so this was just a Dad and Daughter day. I knew I hadn't really been good company recently, but in my defence, I had a good reason to be a miserable bint.

The food was served; I heard my plate put in front of me, what I assumed was bread and butter on a smaller plate to the side, and then the unmistakable sound of a teapot in the middle of the table.

"Right, there you are," the lady said. "Enjoy."

"Actually," I said, "is there a toilet I could use? You know, before I start?"

"Yes, love," the lady said.

"Is there a disabled?" Dad said. "They tend to be easier."

"Yes, do you have a radar key?"

"Yes, I do," Dad said. "If you show me, then I will take Florence to it."

Presumably she pointed, and then Dad took my arm. "Come on, love, I will lead the way."

We left our food on the table; it probably needed to cool down a bit anyway, and we walked through the restaurant. I heard Dad unlock the door, and we went in.

"Stay, please," I said; I only needed a pee.

"Okay, right, in front of you is the loo; it looks clean. When you are done, I will show you the washbasin to wash your hands, okay?"

I nodded, and using my stick, I found the loo. I turned around and sat. Yes, that was perfect. I raised my bum and pulled my knickers down and relaxed and peed. When I had done, I reached to the side and found the tissue. I wiped myself and dropped the tissue between my legs. I raised my bum, pulled my knickers up and stood up.

"Right," Dad said, taking my arm, "here is the basin. Whilst you wash your hands, I'll just go myself."

I turned the tap on; it had one of those extra-long handles, and it took a bit of finessing to get the water to just the right temperature. I found the soap dispenser on the wall and pressed the plunger. As I washed my hands, I could hear Dad peeing in the toilet. Soon he was finished, and he came by me and washed his hands. I remembered holding Gil as he peed, and my heart swelled.

"The dryer is here, Florence," he said, turning me. I put my hands forward, and hot air blew.

We were all done, and Dad opened the door and led me out.

"Disgusting," I heard a woman say.

"I beg your pardon," Dad said with annoyance in his voice.

"You two in there, what were you doing? It shouldn't be allowed."

"Madam," Dad said, his voice surprisingly calm, "It is a disabled toilet. My daughter is blind; she can't see what facilities are where, and I help her."

There was silence, and then Dad took my arm. "Come on, Florence, let's go and enjoy our lunch."

Dad guided me back to our table, and just as we were seated, the woman who had taken us to our table, the server, spoke; she must have followed us.

"I heard what that woman said," the server said to us. "I am so sorry for that. We have asked the woman never to return to our restaurant, and as a gesture for the upset, we would like to offer your lunch with no charge today."

I gasped and turned my head towards Dad. "It wasn't that bad, Dad," I said. "She just didn't use her eyes before speaking."

Dad laughed and then spoke. "That is a fabulous gesture, but please, we cannot accept. As you can see and hear, it has not upset Florence, and you must not let a silly woman like that affect your profitability. After all, we want to be able to come back."

"Well, thank you; not everyone would be as understanding. Please, enjoy your food before it gets too cold."

"Thank you," I said. "I am sure that we will."

I don't know why, but that silly woman seemed to bring me back to a reality that had escaped after Gil left me. I can only imagine what she thought that we, Dad and I, were doing in there, and I decided that would speak more for her mind than mine.

"Tuck in, sweetheart," Dad said, breaking into my introspection. I felt for my knife and fork and then for my plate. I put my knife and fork back down and felt on the table for my curry sauce.

"Dad, can you pour the tea?" I said.

I felt my plate, knew where the fish was and then poured my curry sauce over the top. I put the empty saucepot down, reached for my...