Now that the rain has stopped, the sun has come out and the temperatures are rising quickly; it promises to be another scorcher of a day. Everything looks freshly washed and bursting with colour. The grass is so green it’s almost iridescent, and the swathes of rose bushes scent the air with a damp, sweet fragrance. The grounds are impressive. There are flower beds, a water feature and a sensory garden. A few residents appear to be gardening, while others are sitting on benches, chatting with visiting relatives or being accompanied on walks by the nursing staff.

Everyone seems delighted to see Harry and he gets lots of strokes and pats. Which of course he loves, wagging his tail and bashing their legs. Though it’s as if he knows when he can be excited and when he needs to be calm, resting his soft head on the lap of one lady who stops hugging her teddy bear to tickle his ears gently. After a while we stop walking and I settle myself on an empty bench to wait for Valentine, lifting my face to the warm rays of sunshine and closing my eyes as Harry flops down beside me.

Valentine is subdued when he returns. Any excitement or anticipation at giving Gisele her gift has evaporated. I try to make conversation on the drive home.

‘Did she love her present?’

‘It’s hard to tell these days.’

‘I’m sure she does. It’s a wonderful anniversary gift. How many years is it?’

‘Sixty.’

‘Sixty! Wow, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What’s there to tell?’

‘Well, it’s a huge achievement!’

‘Not when you love someone.’

There’s a beat as he turns to look out of the window. Out of the corner of my eye I notice his hands in his lap, fingering his wedding ring.

‘Isn’t that your diamond anniversary?’

‘Is it? Perhaps I should have bought her diamonds then.’

‘Trust me, diamonds are totally overrated,’ I reply, my mind flicking to the large rock on the finger of my ex-husband’s new fiancée. ‘I’d much rather have someone make me a bird feeder.’

Glancing sideways at him, I smile, but Valentine remains turned away, staring out of the window, so I don’t press him. Instead I turn on the radio, but it wheezes and crackles in complaint, refusing to tune in to a station. In the end I turn it off and we spend the rest of the journey in silence, winding our way across the Dales, lost in our own thoughts.

I drop him at his bungalow. Originally it was my intention to head straight home, as I’ve got some work to do, but instead I invite myself in for a cup of tea. As he goes to put the kettle on, I notice a few cards on his mantelpiece, wishing him a happy anniversary. There’s one from Evelyn, another from the landlord at the pub, a couple more from people I don’t know – most likely relatives or friends from when they lived in the city. But there’s one that is distinctly absent.