I couldn’t at first, it was just another bit of landscape, but then there was his beer belly, the dip of a neck, the outline of a chin, the blurred profile of his sleeping face. I held my breath and there was nothing but the sound of lapwings calling. I swear I saw his stomach move. I thought of Granddad, probably sleeping, himself. Laid out on the sofa. His belly all disappeared, his cheeks starting to sink. He’d said he didn’t want to come, that walking was something he did for money not pleasure. But it was a lie because I remembered him coming when I was younger, before he got tired. I remembered him leading the way.

Nan was shading her eyes from a sudden bust of sunlight, still looking across the old man.

‘His hair grows back curly every spring,’ she said and I saw the promise of it in the new green leaves, the mass of trees around his head, running along his spine.

‘Maybe by autumn it’ll be the same colour as yours.’

‘Are you asleep?’

‘No.’ I open my eyes and everything’s too bright. She’s kneeling now, sitting on her feet, holding a piece of paper.

‘Ok. So I’ve finished it. I’ve tried to be as detailed as possible, but we can be flexible when we’re out there. Nothing’s set in stone.’ She hands it to me and I scan down the list of dates and places. Thailand, Laos, Cambodia. Places I can’t ever really picture myself going.

‘Well?’

‘It’s very… thorough.’

‘Alex.’ The way she says it. She moves forward so her face is too close. Her eyes examining mine, moving like she’s skim reading, summing things up, identifying the problem. Her eyes are flecked with green. Freckles on the bridge of her nose. Fuck. I’m fifteen again, in her room, leaning in too close, misreading all the signals. I’m going to do something stupid.

I stand up.

‘I mean, do you even want to go anymore?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Is it money? I can lend you some. You could pay me back when you’ve done some extra shifts at the pub.’