'This,' the lady showing us the house said, 'was my brother's bench. He would sit here in the sunshine with a cup of tea and watch the world go by. It was his favourite place.'
What a lovely story, we thought. And we both pictured an old man, whiling away his days in this beautiful picturesque place.
'Sit down!' the lady said. 'Go on, it's a lovely place.'
Denise sat down. I was sceptical.
'I'm not sure it will support my weight,' I said.
'Go on,' the lady said. 'It'll be fine.'
I shrugged my shoulders. I had been told to sit. I sat.
The bench held my weight.