Freida had a whole row to herself in the small graveyard that was boarded by a drystone wall and dusted with snow. Beyond the wall a field of sheep led gently down to the water’s edge, the oranges and browns of the rocks appearing and disappearing like miniature islands in the lapping waves. Pointing her gravestone out to them, Declan said that the new graves would join her one day – they were filling the rows in order.

‘But I asked them to put her out there to stand on her own for a bit,’ he said. ‘I thought she’d like that.’

‘Yes, I think she probably does,’ Eva said.

He left them alone then, walking to another grave closer to the church, where he laid a waterproof sheet on the ground and sat down. She could see his big green wellies sticking out to the side of what she assumed was his parents’ grave. We have all lost someone, she thought.

The church was a small white chapel with a grey-tiled roof and in front of it were graves that looked centuries old, with large cross-shaped stones and engravings so faded she couldn’t make out the names. She realised she was alone, that Holly and Piotr were walking towards Freida, and for some reason she thought she ought to be walking in between them. So she followed their path, feeling a new flurry of snow falling on her hair, on her neck. It was cold, but not unwelcome.

Standing at the graveside, Holly was looking at the neat stone decorated with white and purple flowers and three golden baubles. She seemed tiny, standing there, and her head was low. Eva suddenly felt like a giant, conscious of her own strength. Poor Holly. She was just one person, who was trying her best – as they all had been. Gently, Eva reached out and rested her arm around Holly’s shoulders. Holly didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either, and Eva took that to mean she had done the right thing.

Piotr nodded at her, just slightly. She had been wrong before, when she’d thought he was diminished. He had simply learned to hesitate. To Eva, at that moment, he seemed far stronger for it. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the photos she had given him. On the top, their ultrasound. Perhaps it was a good moment to stand together in a graveyard and remember.

But it wasn’t the photos he was looking at. He’d had them wrapped in something – a letter. It was one of her mum’s old letters of support. He read it. Looked up at her. Quietly, he handed it to her.

Avigail, I am asking you to visit me.

Eva looked up at Piotr, but she already knew what he had just worked out.