Joe’s mood lifted when we reached the villa. The morning was bright, but the heat of the previous day had been tempered by a fresh breeze that skittered small white clouds across the sky and ruffled the treetops. Birds were busy amongst the fruit cages; petals drifted from the flowers and settled amongst the gravel and the grass.

Joe carried the box of kittens into the villa. He put it on the kitchen floor, checked the kittens and then covered the box with a tablecloth.

‘They’ll be okay there for a bit,’ he said. ‘I want you to see something.’

‘What?’

‘Something I found.’

His words were spoken in a different tone to before. Whatever it was he wanted to show me, the fact that he wanted me to see felt like a peace offering.

‘You might want to put your trainers on,’ he said, and my heart lifted again. He was concerned for my comfort.

I did as he suggested and followed him across the garden. He led me almost to the gate, but then veered off into the mouth of a tunnel he’d hacked through the overgrowth close to the boundary wall. There was barely space for me to squeeze after him and the bare skin on my arms and legs was soon scratched and stung.

Joe ploughed on ahead, pushing through the climbers and brambles, disturbing lizards and birds, scattering leaves and twigs. ‘Here!’ he called at last.

He reached his hand back for me and I took hold of it – how strange it was to be touched by him; like something recalled in a dream. He helped me through the tangle and we emerged into a cobbled courtyard, with a tumbledown and overgrown building behind. The roof was pitched but had folded and collapsed in places and many tiles were missing. Inverted horseshoes were nailed to the stonework that was illuminated by shafts of dusty sunlight. A metal pump towered over a great stone water trough, a rusty old bucket was lying on its side, and the boundary wall ran behind.

‘The old stables?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Old and forgotten. I don’t suppose anyone’s used them since my grandfather died.’

We stood, both of us slightly out of breath, looking at the building. A hay rake was propped in one corner, its tines rusting. The air was still, and I could feel the ghosts of old horses, imagine the clanging of metal shoes on the cobbles, the whinnying of the animals inside the stables, the smell of fresh hay and cold water in the trough. I imagined the ancestors of our kittens basking in the sunlight, or tiptoeing inside to hunt for mice.