[Rather than put his foot in his mouth, as he surely would, Arthur stays silent as Sally cries it out. What else can he do? It's a miracle he has the emotional intelligence he does, it wasn't something routinely taught to little English boys in the 30s and 40s.

But he had had Percy. That had made a difference.

When she pulls away, he stands there awkwardly, relighting his neglected cigarette. He hadn't wanted to singe her hair, that would be just his awful luck.]

Ah, well, it's seen much worse. I was already a mess, no harm done.

[There may not be much that he can do, but there are some things. Practical things. He's very good with practical things.]

Er...it's probably not very safe for you to drive at the moment. Why don't we...hook up your motorbike to my bus, it's got one of those little knobbly bits with a cord for ferrying, and I'll get us to the city.

[Planning was good. He can handle planning, and it makes him feel better. A solid plan can make everything look a little bit better. Or make it easier to pretend, anyhow.]

I know we haven't got any money to stay anywhere, but really, this thing's like a little flat on wheels. An entirely unfurnished one, but...

[It's still better than staying outdoors. And he just assumes that now that they've found each other, and there's no time limit, she's going to stick with him. It's just the smart and safe thing to do.]