She spoke French quite a bit, which, despite my O-level, I understood only sparingly. She seemed delighted to see me, hugging and kissing me on both cheeks; and even more delighted to meet Harry, to whom she responded immediately, stroking and petting him, even though he covered her navy trousers in endless dog hairs. Meanwhile Maya and Will waved from the back of the camper, which was surprisingly roomy. It had been stuck in the garage forever, but Valentine had given it a wash and hoovered the inside, while I spruced up the curtains by giving them a quick iron.

‘Be good to get it out for a run,’ he said as we busied ourselves with our buckets and mops and the ironing board. ‘Blow away the cobwebs.’

And I said yes and nodded, as the radio played and the kettle boiled. But we both knew the cobwebs we were trying to blow away, and they weren’t just the ones in the camper van.

‘Argh, I can’t believe it!’

Maya lets out a scream, waking up Harry, who’s lying next to me. He jumps up and starts barking at some invisible danger.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, trying to quieten him down.

She quickly scoots over, waving her phone underneath my nose.

‘Nothing’s wrong. Look!’

I squint at her screen, but the sunlight’s causing a reflection.

‘I can’t see – what does it say?’ Plus, if I’m honest, I need my reading glasses.

‘It’s the crowdfunding page I set up for the village hall,’ she continues, excitedly. ‘We’ve got our first contributions.’

‘You set up a crowdfunder?’ I look at her in astonishment. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Well, I thought I’d better not say anything, in case we didn’t raise any money.’ She breaks off with a grin. ‘But look, we’ve already raised seven hundred and fifty quid.’

‘Did I hear someone say “seven hundred and fifty quid”?’

A voice from the deckchair. Valentine’s hearing seems suddenly to have improved considerably.

‘Who donated?’ I ask, amazed.

Maya scrolls through the names and begins reading them out. I recognize a few of the locals in the village.

‘Well, I never.’ Valentine shakes his head.

‘Never what?’ Gisele still has her French accent. I see her turn to Valentine. She looks troubled.

‘We’re raising money, love, for the village hall, so that we can go dancing again.’

‘Dancing?’ Her face visibly lights up.

‘Aye, remember? Like we used to?’

But now she’s looking worried again, and I can see her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her fingers rubbing themselves agitatedly over her knuckles. I get up from my towel and walk over to them both. As soon as she sees me, Gisele breaks into a smile and reaches up her hands to me.

‘Helen. Mon bébé.’

I see the pain on Valentine’s face as his wife confuses me with his daughter, but I simply smile back and let Gisele hug me. I’ve read that correcting someone who is suffering from dementia only confuses and upsets them.