‘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.

‘Thanks.’ He’s whispering too. ‘You’re the first person who’s ever understood that. My ex couldn’t understand why I had a “pretend tree from a Danny DeVito children’s film” tattooed on me. She thought it was a drunken dare or something. Didn’t even know it was a book first.’

‘Good clue as to where the “ex” part comes in.’

He laughs, looking as surprised by it as I am. It didn’t seem like a laughing moment. ‘I love the quote, I love the meaning of the story, and I love trees. Dad used to read it to me when I was little. One of my most vivid memories is snuggling up in bed with him and reading The Lorax together. When I was older and he was ill, I got into bed with him and read it aloud and neither of us could stop giggling. It was the last time I ever heard him laugh. He never approved of tattoos but I think he’d approve of that one.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur, my fingers stroking the skin of his ankle.

He sighs, looking lost in memories for a moment, until he suddenly shakes his head and yanks his foot out of my grasp. He starts straightening the socks on the sunny rock like they need the concentration of a chess game, and I struggle to take my eyes off him. He tucks his right foot behind his left leg so the tattoo is hidden again then smooths the wet bottoms of his trousers out, trying to squeeze river water from the material.