Conversely, when I thought of Dad, first reading a newspaper in his deckchair and then years later, the only images I could conjure of him were ones where he had his head down at his desk and never on the arm of another woman or, as Mum’s diary had alleged, women. For some reason, my brain was reluctant to marry up with the truth I now carried around in my heart, but I tried not to let it all dominate my day in the sun.

I had just stepped out of a refreshingly cool shower late that afternoon when someone began beating a tattoo on the cottage door and I hastily pulled on some clothes before rushing to answer it.

‘Just a sec,’ I shouted, fumbling with the key in the lock, ‘hold on.’

I opened the door and was faced with the biggest bunch of yellow roses imaginable. In an instant I was transported back to my parents’ garden and, remembering how beautifully the roses had bloomed this year, courtesy of the bunch Joan had arranged for me during my last attack of vertigo, I was completely convinced that my father was standing behind them – and I was amazed to discover that I hoped he might be.

My heart hammered hard as I tried to work out what I was going to say but I couldn’t come up with anything and it didn’t matter anyway, because it wasn’t him.

‘I’d all but given up on you,’ said Joe, his face appearing over the top of the blooms as he lowered them. ‘Are you going to ask me in?’

I stepped aside to let him in as my heart settled back down again.

‘These are for you,’ he said, handing the beautiful bunch over. ‘I remembered how much you enjoyed looking at the roses when we went for our afternoon tea.’

‘Hello, Joe,’ I said, finally finding my words. ‘They’re absolutely stunning. Thank you so much. It was kind of you to remember.’

‘There’s not much I forget,’ he grinned, evidently pleased with my reaction.

Aside from the first non-platonic kiss anyone had ever planted on my lips, of course.

‘When did you get back?’ I asked, brushing the thought aside.

‘Not long ago,’ he said, following me into the kitchen where I thought I’d seen a vase at the back of one of the cupboards. ‘I haven’t even been to the farm yet.’

‘Are you putting the moment off by any chance?’

‘In a way,’ he shrugged, ‘but I had a couple of things to do in the village and I wanted to see you. I’ve been feeling bad about how we left things last week.’

I thought back to how resolutely he had objected to my suggestion that he should go with me to the pub and how keen he had been to convince me not to try and ‘mend him’.