‘I think he’s mistaken himself for a grizzly bear. You know how you see them in the shallows catching salmon as they swim upstream? It’s my fault for letting him watch Countryfile unsupervised.’

I stroke his tiny head as he turns in a circle to get comfortable and curls up on my lap. ‘Oh, bless him. Butter wouldn’t melt.’

‘Not now his dad’s got wet feet, it wouldn’t.’ Noel grouches.

‘You’re being a big baby, you know that, don’t you? It’s a lovely day, you’ll dry out quick enough.’

He glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow and a look of indignation. ‘I will, my boots won’t.’

Noel unlaces his boots and pulls them off one at a time. He tips the first one upside down, looking unreasonably forlorn as a trickle of water splashes onto the stones at his feet. He pulls the sock off and wrings it out, then does the same with the other foot.

I try to concentrate on stroking Gizmo, but it only gets more difficult when I catch sight of a flash of colour on his ankle and make a noise of surprise. ‘Is that a Truffula tree?’

He glances down at his foot and then back at me. ‘So, let me get this straight, you can identify a fictional tree tattooed on my ankle but you can’t identify a cedar standing right in front of you?’

‘I love Dr Seuss.’ I hold my hand out and scrunch my fingers together. He turns to the side and holds his leg out behind him, letting me see the tattoo.

I lean over Gizmo, who huffs at being squashed, to clamp my hand around his wet trousers and pull his leg closer until I can see the back of his foot.

‘I can’t believe you have a Lorax tattoo. That’s amazing.’ Without even thinking, I run my fingers across the red cotton candy tree and down the striped trunk that extends from a patch of grass at the back of his heel and leans over the outside of his ankle bone. ‘Unless,’ I say aloud, reading the word that’s written underneath it, an echo of the final stone-carved message The Lorax leaves behind when all the trees are gone. ‘I love that quote. I had it pinned on the noticeboard above my desk in my old job.’

He’s gone from laughing to very still as I’ve been touching his foot and he murmurs the full quote.

‘That’s the most amazing tattoo I’ve ever seen,’ I whisper, feeling like talking in a normal voice will ruin the peace that’s settled over us. It feels special, like he’s trusting me with something by showing it to me. It’s hidden in a place that probably not many people get to see, and he’s gone so quiet that I get the impression he didn’t intend for me to see it. It feels too personal.