By the time we passed him for good she had him remarried to a woman called Sandra and happy at last, and she waved at him as we went by, and he had no idea he had just been handed a future by the cleverest woman in England.
We played the game we always play, the one where you have to name a better song than the last one or you lose, and there are no rules and no winner and we have been playing it three years and it has never once ended.
And the whole time, between songs, she kept doing a thing with her hand. Somewhere past Luton she had reached over me into the door pocket for the phone, and I let her have it back, because the thing she wanted it for was not work.
She lifted the left hand up into the light coming through the windscreen, turned it slow, watched the stone catch, and filmed it. Ten seconds of the ring throwing light round the inside of the car. Her thumb moving on it. Once, the ring and the side of my face in the same frame, me not knowing till I caught her at it.
