I pressed my nose to the glass, following the direction of its flight, to see a mass of them perched in the cherry tree next to your flat. ‘That’s so weird . . . They look strange being there.’ Although genuinely fascinated by the tropical birds, you stamping out your cigarette into an ashtray distracted me. ‘They don’t belong here,’ I said.

‘Well, they do now . . . Anyway, enough about the birds. I want to show you something.’

I was back in the room. Edward was standing in front of me holding a photograph. His shakes more pronounced than previously. Appearing to be nerves rather than age. He extracted his hanky again from his pocket, dabbed his face. ‘Come round this way . . . Have a look.’

I did as I was told. It was a black-and-white picture of a girl, laughing, on a beach, ice cream in hand, breeze through her hair. A perfect example of captured joy.

‘Who is it?’ I asked.

‘So, there’s nothing familiar?’ His voice was raised, excited as he stabbed at it with his finger.

I went to take the picture from his hand for a closer look. He let go, reluctantly.

‘You mean the beach? I’m afraid I’ve only ever been to Llandudno.’

‘No . . . no, not the beach, the face.’ His eyes widened, like a charades player growing frustrated at rubbish guessers.

The girl was pretty with plaited hair. Broad smile. Her dress could have been floral, although it was hard to tell because the print was so small. But there was nothing remarkable about any of it. Nothing familiar at all.

‘Sorry, Edward. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. She’s lovely, though. Who is it?’

He took the photograph back off me, returned to his chair and dropped. ‘There was so much going on the day we met. I didn’t realize it at first.’

I sat too and had a biscuit. Allowed his befuddled ramblings to emerge. Trying to appear interested and not look over to you.

‘It was when I woke the next morning that you were my first thought on opening my eyes. I saw your face but realized it was her face.’

I coughed as a crumb flew down my windpipe. ‘Sorry. I . . . I don’t understand.’

‘That’s my daughter . . . in the picture . . . Amy.’

‘Oh right, I see. Do you see her often?’

He shook his head. ‘She died four weeks after that picture was taken.’

I replaced the half-eaten biscuit onto the plate. ‘Oh, Edward, that’s . . . I’m so sorry . . . How? She was so young.’

‘A stomach infection. Can you believe it? A stupid stomach infection. It wasn’t fair. Not fair at all. And here am I, alive all this time, old and useless.’

‘You mustn’t say that . . . What about your wife?’