Inside we’re greeted by the scent and the bloom of flowers. Deep purple delphiniums and lisianthus, bright pink cosmos and lilac-edged hydrangeas fill jam jars on the church windowsills, while at the end of the pews the local florists have tied balloons shaped like love hearts. They make Valentine smile, and as the vicar begins his service and we sing hymns, I hear the echo of the crowds singing outside and feel a sense of being a part of something bigger.

It’s uplifting and joyous, despite the sad circumstances, and when I walk up to the lectern to say a few words on behalf of Valentine, who’d baulked at the thought of speaking in public, I fold up the poem by Kahlil Gibran that I’ve rehearsed, with its beautiful words and its profound sentiments. Because, really, is that the best I can do? It might be famous and philosophical, but it’s not remotely illustrative of the two people I’ve got to know, and while my own words will never be as eloquent, they’ll come from the heart.

So instead I tell the packed congregation how Valentine first laid eyes on Gisele as a teenager when he asked her to dance. I tell them about their trip to Paris on a scooter, and how they danced in smoky jazz clubs until they had blisters on their feet. I tell them about Gisele’s tarte tatin and winning second prize at the Dales Show for her dahlias. And I tell them about Valentine winning first prize when she agreed to marry him.

I speak about their daughter Helen, and how much she was loved. About the day we drove to Whitby and they both ate ice creams and danced together on the beach, to the sounds of the waves and Bill Haley & His Comets. How we weren’t here to say goodbye, because people live on in our thoughts and memories, but instead to say ‘See You Later, Alligator’. And I tell them how the coffin is wicker and cost a small fortune and, frankly, nobody cares what type of handles it has, because all that’s important is that we’re surrounded by love.

Afterwards we all go to the pub and stand outside in the dappled sunshine. So many of us: a whole village coming together to heal a broken heart. And we all raise a glass.

‘To Gisele!’

And to Valentine.

Turning the Page

By the beginning of October the village hall finally has a brand-new roof and windows, thanks to the hard work of Ben and his builders, who have worked around the clock to get it watertight before the weather turns. Autumn is now upon us. On my daily walks with Harry I’ve become aware of the morning chill, which causes me to reach for a jumper before leaving the house, and of the changing leaves on the trees.

Standing up high on the Dales this morning, I looked down across the sweeping valley and, whereas for months all I’ve seen is green, now there’s a kaleidoscope of colours transforming the landscape. Russet-coloured bracken that looks ablaze in the sunshine, hedgerows of bright red berries, golden woodland. On a bright day like today it’s breathtaking, but these days are becoming few and far between as the new season brings with it wet weather and the threat of high winds.