I glance at him wondering if he’s joking, but he doesn’t appear to be.

‘It’s a church,’ I say, surprised. ‘You said you didn’t want to get married in a church.’

‘I just didn’t like the idea of being married by a priest or a vicar. And I don’t believe in any of those silly rituals. But I like the setting,’ he explains.

I take in the grim and unappealing chapel, not sure what there is to like about it. It’s more horror movie than romcom. ‘I’m not sure people would have come all this way,’ I say.

‘Well, it’s not like we invited anyone much to the wedding,’ he says. ‘Apart from your mum.’

I nod. Fair point. Liam’s mum is dead and he never knew his father, and because he moves around a lot for work and was new to town he didn’t have any local friends, so we decided to keep it small, with my mum as one of the witnesses and the registry office providing the second one.

Liam heads off to explore and search the woods for the barrow and I wander among the fallen gravestones, kicking away brambles and nettles. Most of the grave markers are crooked and the words etched on them have been eroded by time and the weather. I can make out some dates, mainly from the 1700s and the 1800s, and the name McKay is written on most of them, from which I gather it must have been the family graveyard.

Behind the chapel I find two newer gravestones, dark grey granite with white writing carved into them. I step closer to read them. ‘In ever loving memory of Nancy McKay. Beloved mother, daughter, sister. RIP.’ And on the second stone: ‘Elliot Harrison McKay. Beloved son, brother and grandson. Loved and remembered.’

I gasp in surprise. ‘They’re dead,’ I murmur to myself.

I read the dates on the markers. Died November 25th, 2015. Elliot was nine years old; Nancy was thirty-nine. My heart breaks for them. That’s awful. I wonder what happened. Maybe they died in the fire? It seems the most likely suggestion. I glance around for a third gravestone marking Andrew McKay, but there isn’t one that I can see. Maybe he managed to get out. Though, of course, I’m only guessing. Perhaps they died in some other tragic way.

I notice a dirty vase, tipped over on its side, and the remains of some dried flowers scattered over the ground. Someone obviously used to come and tend these graves, but they haven’t been for a while, by the look of things. I pull up some weeds and wipe dirt off the stones.