I suddenly realize how insensitive I’ve been and quickly grope around for something to say. I notice something bulky in the pocket of the old man’s anorak and see the end of a plastic bottle sticking out.

‘Are you putting up another bird feeder?’ I gesture to his pocket.

Seeming to remember it’s there, he pulls it out and holds it towards me. ‘It’s for you.’

‘Me?’

‘Aye. I made it for you.’ He shifts uncomfortably. He looks embarrassed now and unsure, as if deeply regretting his actions.

‘Oh, wow, thank you so much.’

I’m surprised and touched. I wasn’t expecting this at all. To be honest, when he didn’t wave back, it crossed my mind that he might be simply ignoring me.

‘If you don’t want it, it’s all right.’

‘No, I love it,’ I say quickly, taking it from him and turning it round in my hands to inspect the small wooden perch and the holes. ‘Where do I hang it? To attract the birds?’

‘Oh, anywhere’ll do – on a tree branch, or you can put a nail high up. I’ve made the holes small, so the pigeons won’t eat it all . . . their beaks are too big . . . Just try to keep it away from the cats.’ He glances at Harry, who’s staring up at the bird feeder as if it might hold food for him. ‘But I reckon you don’t have to worry about those, with this one about.’

‘No, I don’t,’ I agree, the memory of Harry body-slamming the window of the rental car to try and get to a ginger tom still etched in my mind.

‘Fill it about half-full, then sit back and watch the birds do the rest.’

‘That’s really kind, thank you.’

‘Ah, it’s nothing.’ Batting away my thanks with his gnarly bear of a hand, he looks down at his feet uncomfortably. ‘Right, well, best get on.’ With a shrug of his shoulders, he starts to move away.

‘I’m Liv, by the way.’

He pauses, then raises his eyes to mine. He looks tired, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and deep creases etched between his unruly grey eyebrows.

‘Liv? What kind of name is that?’

I smile. ‘It’s short for Olivia.’

‘Oh, right,’ he nods, and then, ‘Valentine,’ he adds gruffly.

‘Pleased to meet you, Valentine.’

But he doesn’t reply. I feel as if I’ve been dismissed and, assuming the conversation is over, I say my goodbyes and begin walking away.

‘You know you can always leave Harry here with me,’ he calls after me.

I turn round. He’s still standing on his driveway, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets.

‘If you want to go out, I mean . . . It’d be no trouble. I’d be glad of the company.’

I’m a bit taken aback, but try not to show it. ‘OK. Thanks. I might take you up on it.’

‘You do that.’ He gives a sharp nod.

‘And thanks again for my bird feeder!’