‘We chatted for a little while,’ he continues. ‘You were nervous but kind. I could tell that about you. After a while you opened up a bit and told me what you enjoyed most about the book. You said it was the glass bird, that you wished you could have a bird like that. When I heard this I felt like you truly were a kindred spirit so I told you about Mrs Perkins and Mallison Street, how I’d been left the glass bird by her when she died. You listened to me so attentively it made my heart hurt. I offered to get you some candy floss but you said you didn’t want any. Then the firework display began and I noticed it was making you jump. I asked if you were okay and you said you wanted to go home.’

I sit in silence, trying to recall the events he is describing, an old sadness tugging at my heart.

‘I went to find the party planner and asked her to call your dad,’ he says. ‘As she led you away, you turned back and waved at me. You were the saddest person I had ever met. But in a strange way, I liked your sadness because it made mine seem less terrible.’

He looks at me. The scar on his cheek is illuminated by the light coming through the window and I see now that it’s an old burn.

‘When you left, I felt empty,’ he says, ‘like all the lights had been dimmed. I knew I had to see you again, to speak to you properly away from everyone. So imagine my surprise when you wrote to me. Well, I say me, you actually addressed the letters to Angus, though I didn’t mind.’

‘My God,’ I say, a chill rippling through me as I recall the box of letters that had arrived at Georgie’s house the other day. ‘You … you were …’

I try to speak but my throat is dry. I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing.

‘It was amazing,’ he says, his eyes shining. ‘You had such sweet handwriting. You told me about school, how you weren’t really enjoying it as the kids kept asking about your mum. You told me a lot about her, how she liked gardening and dancing and how, when she smiled, it made you feel warm and loved.’

My heart feels like it’s being ripped from my chest as I listen to him. How isolated I must have been to have felt that the only person I could confide in was a fictional character.