She kicks off her shoes at the back door and slips on her gardening sandals. There are bulges where over time the leather has compensated for her wide feet. She opens the sliding door of the greenhouse and a cloud of stale air wafts out. Max’s gardening gloves are too big, but hers are worn and a mouse has nibbled through where the thumb should go. She decides to cut down the nettles around the back fences where the apple and pear trees line the garden. It’s a job Max promised to do. Tears fill her eyes. She imagines him standing on that bridge, the dark water coursing beneath him. What have you done, Max?

She takes a scythe and hacks at the expanse of tall nettles, until they are only a few inches high. A sharp tug and they snap at the base. With a fork she digs into the ground; there seems no end to the stringy, knotted roots, the earth’s veins, buried deep, choking the other plants. If she doesn’t get rid of them, they’ll be back next year. Max told her it’s not until you start on them that you realise what a huge task you’re getting into. Why have you lied to me? She shuts her eyes and lets herself sink down to the soft earth, rubbing her bump in circles.

Her mind slides back to the first day Max walked into the cafe. She remembers giving a huge sigh as if she’d been holding her breath all her life waiting for him. His ruffled sandy-blond hair and unshaven face reminded her of Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid. He had one of those open faces that was always smiling. But he seemed lost, drifting. For the best part of a week they chatted and joked like best friends. She’d never felt at ease with anyone like that before. He needed work, so she let him decorate her house. She needed a fresh start after Mum died, so it suited her. They got on so well, but it scared her because she wasn’t sure she could trust another man. But equally, she couldn’t bear to let Max walk out of her life.