Valentine felt a lump in his throat as he remembered his wife making soldiers for their daughter when she was little. She would call them mouillettes – Gisele often spoke to their daughter in her native French – as she dipped them in the runny yolk and marched them into their daughter’s mouth, to the sounds of childish laughter and demands of ‘More mouillette, Mummy!’

‘Aye, she always made the best soldiers.’ He nodded, clearing his throat. He mustn’t be sad. He mustn’t ever let Gisele see him looking sad.

The receptionist beamed. ‘She’s in the recreational room watching TV. Go on through.’

The recreational room was accessed through the double fire doors and was at the end of the corridor. Part conservatory, it was a pleasant enough room, with large windows, which let in a lot of daylight and gave a view of the gardens. Even on a dull February day like today you were able to see both the sky and the grass; heaven and earth – what more could you ask for?

Valentine removed his overcoat and scarf. It was always so hot and stuffy in here. When Gisele had first moved in, he’d asked if they could open a window, let in some fresh air, but he’d been told they kept the windows closed and turned the thermostat up high to keep the residents warm. More like keep them half-asleep, he’d grumbled.

He never wanted this for Gisele. They used to talk about it, before she got poorly. ‘Never put me in one of those,’ she’d say with a shudder, whenever a report about care homes came on the news. They’d watch footage of rooms full of old people nodding off in their armchairs, heads flopped backwards, mouths wide open, and both look at each other with horror.

‘Just give me a cyanide pill and finish me off,’ he’d say. To which she’d laugh, that tinkly, high-pitched laugh of hers, and say with her thick accent that had never lessened over the years, ‘Oh, Valentine, you’ve watched too many of your war films. Now where am I going to buy cyanide, eh? At the Co-op?’

He spotted her immediately. She was sitting in an armchair by the window, staring out into the garden, her hands clasped in her lap. From a distance she looked the same as always. He could almost kid himself he’d come to pick her up and take her back home. That the doctors had got it wrong, and she was well again. When she caught sight of him, she’d tut sharply and click her tongue and tell him off for leaving her.

‘Hello, love.’

Walking over to Gisele, he smiled and went to sit beside her. It was still the hardest thing not to lean over instinctively and give her a kiss on the cheek. He’d done it his whole life, ever since their first date all those years ago, but then several months ago he’d gone to kiss her as usual and she’d recoiled and become distressed. The doctor at the care home said not to get upset, or take it as a personal rejection. That it was common for patients to become unsettled or agitated when relatives tried to kiss them.