‘You mean the one that no birds have found yet?’ I said ruefully, but his gaze didn’t waver.

‘Be patient. They’ll come.’

Downstairs in the kitchen the kettle flicks off and I pour boiling water into the small stainless-steel flask. As the teabags steep, I reach for my coat hanging over the back of the chair and the packet of mince pies I bought when I was in town. I know I should try to make my own, but I also know I can never make shortcrust pastry to rival M&S’s. Popping a couple in my deep pockets, I add a splash of milk to the flask, making sure to fish out the teabags. I’ve learned my lesson.

Afterwards Valentine told me it was only years later that he learned Gisele had known of his affair, but had chosen not to say anything. When he asked her why she had stayed and not left him – why she had chosen to forgive and trust him again – she’d simply replied that she loved him and knew he loved her, and that love was always worth the risk. Which made me think how often the hardest person to forgive is yourself.

It was then that I told him why my marriage ended. Valentine had never asked me, but it felt dishonest to keep it from him, when we’d been so honest with each other. At the mention of David’s affair, he looked upset and asked me if I was disappointed in him, and I said of course not and told him what Josie once told me: that the same story is different for everyone. You just have to live the one that’s right for you.

I find Valentine sitting on Helen’s bench, to which he’s added a dedication to Gisele. I take a seat beside him as Harry beats his legs with his tail, overjoyed to see his friend again. I think how simple life is for Harry, and how complicated we humans make our own lives.

‘It’s cold – I thought you might want some tea.’ Producing the flask, I unscrew the lid and pour him a cup. ‘Don’t worry, I took out the teabag,’ I add, passing it to him, along with a mince pie that I fish out of my pocket.

‘Thanks, love.’ He smiles at the gesture and moves his umbrella so that we can both shelter underneath it. Pouring the hot, steaming liquid into an extra cup, I settle myself next to him, looking out across the graveyard, watching the dusk falling quickly.

‘Will he know about me yet?’

He doesn’t need to explain that he’s talking about the child he’s discovered he fathered. Both of us have thought of nothing else.

‘He could, yes.’ I admit, feeling the weight of responsibility. My breath exhales and I go over my thought process from the last few days. ‘But the likelihood is he probably hasn’t logged into his account for ages. DNA tests were popular Christmas presents a few years ago – my ex and I got them, though it didn’t throw up any surprises . . . My ex-husband was very disappointed he wasn’t royalty, either.’