‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘Um. Right. Fuck.’ I got up, swiftly, and power-walked into the trees.

Well, that was me told.

When I came back, having used a couple of trees as a vicious nail file and also punch bag, he was sitting in exactly the same position. I hovered in front of him, wondering if I could change my train ticket and whisk myself away from him first thing tomorrow, never return.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

He was looking at me with half a frown and half – something more delicate, vulnerable.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, even more hopelessly. Bracken gave a twine-thin yowl.

‘What for?’ His voice was thoughtful.

‘Spoiling everything.’

Jim gave a tiny shake of his head and picked up the whisky bottle, cradling it in a palm, tossing it lightly to the other.

Behind me a bird burbled, maybe one of the pair of goldcrests that hung out here. Plump bullets with a lick of bright yellow on their heads. I knew them now.

I wasn’t sure what to do. Whether to move or say anything else.

His teeth tugged at his bottom lip and he took a slow breath in. It seemed to energise him, just enough. He looked up at me properly. ‘I’ve loved one girl my whole life. It’s all I’ve known. And because of – everything that happened’ – those words sent out on a fug of heavy air – ‘it’s all mixed up with grief, and guilt, and worse.’

I felt a desperate sadness. ‘I know.’ That was it. I could never compete with something so massive and so tragic. How can you be better than a ghost?

‘No.’ His voice was soft. ‘I’m saying that …’ He stared at the trees for a moment before turning his head back. ‘Because of that, it’s a big deal for me. That’s all.’

The bird stopped.

I understood. If he said it now, he wouldn’t be saying it to me alone. He’d still be saying it to her. Just a little bit.

I sat down next to him, my elbows on my knees.

He handed me the whisky. ‘I’m too old for you.’ A dark, wry smile that was uncomfortable with itself.

‘Don’t care.’

He inhaled, long and measured. ‘I just – I need for this not to be rushed.’

‘OK,’ I said.

Jim put his arm around me. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ His eyes were evergreen. Always the same colour, winter or summer.

We looked out into the dusk. The midge did a stone-skimming jump away from us, into the softly fading pines.

There was one thing I never told him, though. That I’d lied.

I saw Molly everywhere up there, that November when I’d first gone back to visit. A blur of wings and hair, white tangles in the bushes. Among the trees, trailing like a ribbon, or peeling off the silver birches, just as before. Once she was right outside the door as he shut it for the night.