Her smile fades and as she looks into the middle distance I remember those months after Harry’s birth when we thought we’d lost her. Becoming a mother to Imogen had emboldened Georgie but Harry’s birth seemed to diminish her. I remember how she had folded in on herself, barely eating or sleeping, talking in a strange, stilted fashion, sitting motionless on the old armchair in the living room. None of us knew what had happened to her, couldn’t work out where our bright, extroverted Georgie had gone. Only when she was diagnosed with postnatal depression after almost a year did it all make sense. She later said that the trauma of Harry’s birth – he was breech and Georgie was given an emergency Caesarean – had sent her into shock. Professional help was sought and after a few months of medication something of the old Georgie was returned to us. Yet she had left a part of herself behind in that maternity ward. The carefree fearlessness had been replaced with a seriousness, a sense that the world was something to protect against rather than explore. I couldn’t understand it at the time, how someone could change so much, but then I look at my own life over the last year and feel the same sense of disconnect. Who was that sensible, happy girl and where did she go?

‘I know you worry about me, Georgie,’ I say as we head across the vast stretch of scorched grass. ‘But really, everything’s fine. All that stuff with the police, it was just a mistake. They got it wrong.’

She turns to me, and I see my reflection in her mirrored Wayfarers.

‘But of all the people,’ she says, lowering her voice as two giggling young girls walk past us. ‘Geoffrey Rivers. We all know how much he … well, how much solace you got from his books after Mum’s death.’

The sun is reaching its height and as it burns into my face I see him, standing at the door, and I shiver, despite the heat.

‘I told you, Georgie,’ I say as we join the overgrown path that leads to the village. ‘It was all a misunderstanding.’

As I walk, Geoffrey’s face appears in my mind.

‘Look, I know it can’t be easy for you at the moment,’ says Georgie. ‘With the break-up and all that. And it’s such a shame because you and Connor seemed so happy. It’s sad to see things fall apart.’

She takes my arm again and, as we continue to walk, Geoffrey’s face dissolves in the sun.

‘Yes,’ I say, watching a procession of young horse riders from the village stables skirt the road alongside us. ‘But Connor and I just weren’t right for each other. We can’t all be like you and Jack.’