‘What is the joke?’

‘I was thinking that it’s perfect if you’re only here for two years maximum because that way we can’t get serious . . .’ I laugh even more. ‘I am laughing at myself because we haven’t even kissed yet.

Marek frowns. ‘So, that I can fix right now.’

He leans in and we kiss on the edge of a magical pond, where frog princes dance on the water and music made by moon-powered wind chimes means the same melody will never be played twice.

I lose my colleagues in the woods. I ask Marek where he’s staying tonight and he tells me the name of the hotel and I suggest I join him.

‘Too soon, Kerry. As an archaeologist, I believe the best things take time to develop.’

I relax into the lightest relationship I have ever had.

I do the coupled-up stuff I used to do with Tim, the stuff I was too young for at twenty, but feels right now that I’m thirty-three. At dinner parties, Marek charms my sister and her husband, and jokes with Ant and his wife. He plays with everyone’s children, but afterwards we agree that it’s a relief to hand them back.

He’s often away on digs, but separation and anticipation is part of the pleasure. I let myself go in bed, in a way I haven’t felt able to since the spring of 2000. Then, I was wild and open because I didn’t know how bad it felt to be hurt. Now I know hurting is part of life, and survivable.

Time is the hidden element that makes it work between Marek and me. It’s been almost a year now but there are two countdowns that give us boundaries. I start my PHEM training in August and he goes back to Poland next spring. Every time we meet, we know we are simply having fun.

Nothing – even the coins and dishes Marek digs up – lasts forever.

Chapter 61: Joel

11 February 2017

We move into our forever home the weekend before Valentine’s Day.

Liv and I have mocked this kind of house for years: an adorable terrace in the quiet neighbourhood of Poet’s Corner. It has Victorian features, a sunny garden and three bedrooms – one for us, one for Leo, and one that will make a perfect nursery.

‘All we need is a Labradoodle and our lives will be complete,’ Liv says as we collapse onto the giant beanbag that’s serving as a sofa till the bespoke velvet one she’s ordered arrives from Italy.

A Labradoodle – and a baby: the thing we don’t mention, the elephant in our new double-aspect living room.