I don’t know how long we sit there, but after a while I notice it’s stopped raining and, putting down the umbrella, I lift my face to the skies. They’re brightening and I close my eyes and breathe it all in.

‘Petrichor.’

‘What’s that?’

I open my eyes to see Maya studying me, her brow creased.

‘It’s that smell you get after heavy rain. That special fragrance of clean air and wet earth.’

Without speaking, Maya takes a deep inhale and exhale. ‘It’s like you’ve cleared the air.’

I think about being a child, coming here with my sister – about everything that’s happened between us since. How I’m finally beginning to realize that you can’t save someone by loving them, or fix a relationship that doesn’t want to be fixed. And I’m not just talking about my marriage.

‘Yes,’ I nod, as I think about Josie. ‘It’s exactly that.’

‘I think that’s my new favourite word.’

I stand up, beckoning towards the shafts of sunlight breaking through the clouds on the horizon ahead. ‘Come on,’ I say, ‘let’s head back.’

Valentine

‘C’mon, lad, it’s time for The Archers.’

It was 2 p.m. Switching on the radio, Valentine put down his cup of tea and settled himself on the sofa. Harry followed him through from the kitchen and paused at the doorway, staring at him. Waiting. Valentine frowned. He’d been given strict instructions not to let him up on the sofa. His owner, Olivia, was trying to train him out of bad habits apparently.

‘I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t.’

He patted the empty cushion and immediately Harry jumped up, curling himself up next to Valentine.

‘We all need a few bad habits, don’t we?’ he said, ruffling the dog’s fur as Harry rested his muzzle on his knee and closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

Valentine couldn’t remember the last time he had shared the sofa. He and Gisele had always used to listen to the episodes together, side by side with a cup of tea and a slice of something, but since she’d been gone, it had just been him on his own. On the radio the familiar opening bars of the soundtrack began to play, and Valentine sipped his tea – a classic Assam – and enjoyed the simple joy of a warm body next to him.

‘Bloody hell, lad,’ he grumbled, wafting his hand.

Even if it did let out farts that stank to high heaven.

He’d pretended not to see her. He liked to keep himself to himself. He didn’t have any friends; it was much better that way. And at first he thought she’d go away, but she didn’t. She kept walking past his bloody window every morning and she kept waving. Day in, day out, rain or shine. And she was always with Harry.

Valentine missed having a dog. He and Gisele used to have Haggis, their little Scottish Highland Terrier. She would go everywhere with them, sitting between them on the front seat of their camper van. When she died, at the grand old age of sixteen, Gisele had been so heartbroken that she wouldn’t consider getting another dog. And now Valentine was too old. It was too late.