He looks dubiously between me and the bridge. The shallow stone beach where we sat when he showed me around for the first time is around a curve in the river from here and you can barely see a hint of the bridge’s railings peering through the rain and mist.

‘Don’t stand there thinking about it!’ I shout at him. ‘Now!’

The bank is steep where he’s dug the sides away, a far cry from the gentle slope he helped me up the other day, and I end up lying down in the mud to anchor myself and holding both hands out to him, wet skin slipping on wet skin when he takes them, inching backwards on my belly as he struggles to get purchase with his feet under the water.

Somehow I manage to pull him far enough until he can get his elbows on what’s left of the grass and wriggle the rest of the way up until we’re both lying in the puddled water, gasping for breath.

He instantly goes to get up, but thinks better of it because he sways before he gets as far as his hands and knees, and he stays in that position, his chest heaving as he pants, his arms shaking from the exertion of the digging and the effort of holding himself up, and probably from the cold too.

I push myself onto my knees and shuffle across until I’m near enough to reach over and brush his dripping hair off his face, unable to not touch him, even though nothing’s right between us.

‘Thank you.’ His voice is wrecked and barely above a whisper, but he turns his head into my hand instead of pushing me off like I expected him to, so I keep tucking the same bit of hair back. He’s breathing hard, and I want to throw a warm blanket over him and wrap him up. ‘You’re freezing.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. Sod the trees, Noel. You’re more important. Trees can be replaced – you can’t. Go home to dry off and get warm. I’ll stay here and carry on.’

He yanks his head away from my hand and pushes himself up onto his feet. ‘Trying to get rid of me? In case I was in any doubt about how unwanted I am on your farm, trying to save your trees?’

It stings me, probably just as much as it stung him when I said something similar the other day. ‘The opposite, you prat! I bloody love you, Noel, I don’t want to see you hurt.’