He smiles at me. I am shy. I am knocked sideways. I am suddenly and irretrievably in what is commonly known as a right old state. It is him and he is here. He is just the same. I feel the same, which is terrible. As I am still me. Not pretty. Not right. So far out of his league and romantic interest I’m on another continent, perhaps one of those he has roamed to, camera in hand. In the heat and dust. Far from anyone.

‘Hello, Vince,’ Kemp says to Dad, reaching out his hand for Dad to shake it. ‘Kemp. Nice to see you again.’

‘Likewise,’ says Dad. They met a few times, why wouldn’t they have? Kemp was my friend.

‘We’re on a day out,’ I say. I am definitely trembling, on this fiercely hot morning, in my chambray dress, and hope to hell Kemp doesn’t notice.

‘Great,’ he replies. ‘Beautiful weather for it. It’s nice to see you both. It’s been a while,’ he adds, looking at me in such an open, friendly way I want to bury my face in the ivy and leave it there.

‘Yes, it has.’ I want to avert my eyes, but I can’t help drinking him in; his face, his hair, his biceps in that T-shirt. The chickenpox scar near his left eye I always had to restrain myself from stroking gently with my finger.

‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch.’

‘What?’ It was me who ghosted him, before it was even a thing. Who stopped returning all texts and phone calls. Who turned my face away from him for the safety of my heart. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I add quickly. I can’t read his face. Is he teasing me, because he knows it was me who dropped contact? Or is he just being Kemp, guileless and lovely, and sorry he hasn’t been in touch when it’s me who should be apologizing to him?

‘You’ve been busy,’ I add, which sounds stupid and like I’m accusing him of something, but I just mean I’ve seen his photos in magazines and that I’ve examined the small-print credits for his name and got that feeling, when I’ve seen it.

‘Yeah.’ Kemp laughs. He was always laughing. He had the kind of laugh that lit up his whole face and could go on for an hour, at a joke he’d heard three days before and was attempting to retell you. He pushes a reed of salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes and tucks it behind his ear. ‘I’m doing OK.’