‘How did you know I was here?’ he asks. His face is drawn but he doesn’t look like he’s been crying.

She takes a seat next to him. ‘I didn’t. I was wandering round the village.’

‘Not much to see.’

‘No. Although you seem to have a lot of community centres.’

Robin laughs. ‘We do.’

They sit in silence for a moment, undisturbed except for birdsong and the gentle rustle of wind in the trees. ‘It’s pretty here,’ Freya says.

Robin nods. ‘Mum always loved the village. Said there was nowhere else she wanted to be.’ He points to a distant grave, and Freya can see fresh flowers have been left by the stone. ‘Her ashes are over there.’

‘Do you remember her well?’ Freya asks. She recalls Sandra’s words and knows that Robin’s mum died when he was young, cancer of some kind.

‘Bits and pieces,’ he says, but he doesn’t expand, his mouth set in a hard line. Freya senses not to push it.

After a moment, he stands up. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Can’t sit here all day.’

They head back over the bridge and towards the playpark.

‘I was eight when Mum died.’ Robin’s voice is soft but clear as they walk in the warm spring breeze. ‘She’d been ill for a while, and nobody had visited except the nurses and Josie and Sandra. Nobody else gave Dad, Georgia or I the time of day.’ Freya glances up at him; his hands are shoved in his pockets, his gaze directed at his feet. She stays quiet, silently urging him to keep talking. ‘Then, when she died, suddenly the house was full. People dropping off food, asking me how I was. How did they think I fucking was? My mother had just died.’

They walk another ten paces or so. ‘And then Finn turned up. Rugby ball in his hand. And he fucking hated rugby, never wanted to play. He couldn’t catch to save his life, probably still can’t now.’ He laughs, but it’s sad, almost reluctant. ‘There he was, ready to go.’ He stops, and they both look out over the playing field. ‘That meant more to me than anything. That Finn knew I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be around all these people. I just wanted to chuck a ball around and pretend everything was normal.’ He shrugs now, and Freya sees him swallowing hard. Then he sighs, a long breath in and out. ‘I just want to help him. Like he helped me.’

‘You will, Robin,’ Freya says gently. She has a sudden urge to take his hand, but she suppresses it, pushing her own hands hard into her coat pockets. He glances at her with a forced smile, then looks out to the open green space.