I am rather taken aback by the question and at first I don’t know what to say.

‘I only ask because this house has a beautiful garden,’ he says, his voice softening. ‘Perfect for children to play in.’

I look out of the window and see the dream world I had first discovered in the books. There are the purple, speckled foxgloves lined up against the stone wall. Beyond them the other set of topiary animals: the fox, the hare and the badger. And there, right at the back, the tall holly maze that leads to the graveyard.

‘Er, no, I don’t have children,’ I say, my voice catching.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ says Geoffrey, placing his hand on my arm. ‘You look rather upset.’

‘I’m fine. Just a bit of hay fever,’ I say, wiping my eye.

‘Oh gosh, we better avoid the garden then,’ says Geoffrey, grimacing.

The sight of the garden brings the story back to me in such vivid detail, my thoughts turn to the boy protagonist.

‘I always felt sorry for Angus,’ I say. ‘He seemed so lonely.’

‘Lonely? Gosh, no,’ says Geoffrey, shaking his head. ‘How could he be lonely when he had his special friends?’

‘But they weren’t real,’ I say. ‘They were ghosts.’

‘They were real to him,’ replies Geoffrey softly. ‘And that is all that matters.’

‘I bet your son enjoyed growing up here,’ I say.

‘Son?’ he says, frowning. ‘I’m afraid you must be mistaken. I don’t have a son. My readers and those funny little ghosts out there were my only children.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taken aback.

I’m sure he had mentioned a son in an interview years back, but then everything about those years after Mum’s death is rather foggy. There had definitely been a wife, I remember that, but there was talk of some family tragedy in the papers that was never fully explained. Maybe she died. Poor Geoffrey.

‘It must be hard to leave somewhere as special as this,’ I say.

‘The time is right,’ he replies, his eyes glistening. ‘And I want to spend my retirement travelling. Seeing the world has suddenly become a priority to this old home bird. There’s a sense of time running out for me.’

I nod my head. That much is true.

‘It’s all right for a young person like you,’ he says wistfully. ‘You have plenty of years ahead, but … well, let’s just say I won’t be sad to start afresh. Now, I suppose I ought to show you around upstairs.’

He gestures to the door but as we make our way out we hear a loud thud. Geoffrey looks startled. He glances at the door then turns on his heels and guides me back into the living room.

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he says, regaining his composure, ‘but will you excuse me?’