They sat in silence again, until he said, ‘I think you’re right, great idea, thanks.’ Another pause. ‘Why were you crying?’

She touched the bracelet and felt her sadness gather. ‘I don’t think I can talk about it.’ She sighed. ‘I know I should, but it’s too difficult.’ She gasped, tried to conjure up some energy to explain. ‘I lost . . .’ She couldn’t quite get there. ‘I mean, well . . .’ Her mouth wouldn’t form the words that were in her head. Everything was out of sync and the emotion overwhelmed her again in one great suffocating wave.

Fat tears brimmed and spilled over as she forced the two words that she sensed he would understand. ‘My mother . . .’

‘You lost your mother?’ Shelly nodded. ‘Oh . . . sorry. Perhaps we shouldn’t have barged in on you the way we did. You need to be alone; I understand, really.’

She nodded again. A tear splashed onto the back of her hand. The dog made a sad little whimper and licked it away with one great swipe of its pink tongue. Shelly leaned forward and rested her cheek on the dog’s broad head. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve been a big help.’

‘I have to go to work soon, but I can’t leave you like this. Please, can I buy you a coffee, or a Coke? You’ll feel better after a sugar hit, honestly. Grief is so exhausting. I’ve been there,’ he said simply.

She thought about it, shrugged, and nodded.

They walked over to McDonald’s where he ordered two cappuccinos. Giving all their attention to their drinks, they were silent for a moment, then, aware he was watching her she looked up. ‘What?’

His kind smile started in his eyes, then lit up his face. She smiled back, then after an unknown length of time, when they must have looked ridiculous to fellow diners, she snapped back to reality. ‘Hello?’ she said.

He shook his head rapidly. ‘Sorry, was I staring?’

She nodded, although his smile was still with her, like a tiny spark of warmth in her chest.

He said, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

Shelly realised she was batting her eyelashes, then felt the heat of a blush.

‘I’m David,’ he said, sticking his hand across the table. ‘My grandad was a David, my dad was a David, and when I have a son, he’ll be a David, too; or probably Dave. Most people use Dave these days, don’t they? Firstborn son, family tradition; I come from a long line of Davids. How mad is that?’