It felt strangely emotional to wake to the feel of a hard bolster beneath his head. Theo had arrived at the old-fashioned B&B on the outskirts of Dorchester the night before, exhausted, and had slept with the deep-set window slightly open. The chill air, cold bedding and quiet Dorset countryside placed his memories back at Vaizey College. He lay back on the mattress with his arms locked behind his head and wondered, as he did every morning, how Anna was doing. He reached for his phone, hesitated, then placed it back on the nightstand, nervous of calling to say he was thinking of her, mulling over whether or not it was a good idea, aware of how such a small thing had now become so much more complicated.

He showered, then declined the kind offer of breakfast that was, said Mr Whittaker, the portly owner of the establishment, now being kept warm on a hot plate on the Aga, given the late hour. Theo had no appetite and decided he would grab a coffee later. Hitching his bag onto his shoulder, he gave his thanks and offered praise for a night well spent.

‘Actually...’ He hesitated, twisting his brogue on the patterned hall carpet. ‘I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of a good sports and tackle shop?’

A couple of hours later, with the boot of his Mercedes full to bursting, he pulled the tag from his new, waxed-cotton hat, which sat askew on his head, a size too small, and punched in a call to Jody, who was fast becoming his most valuable asset.

‘Just to let you know, I won’t be in today or tomorrow and maybe not for the rest of the week.’

‘You okay, boss?’ She cut to the chase.

‘Yep, I’m fine. I’m handing you the reins. Keep me posted if you need anything and I’ll phone in when I can. Stephen is taking all calls at Villiers House, but do check in with him.’

With Wilson running the build and Jody’s remit now extending into all operational areas – she excelled at just about everything she did – the team was coming together nicely. Theo’s dreams were becoming a reality. His worries were now giving way to a sense of pride and excitement, as if he could see the finished building and all that it would achieve. And it felt good.

He pumped the gas on his sleek Mercedes and headed off into the countryside. With his window down, he breathed in lungfuls of the clear Dorset air.

It was two full days later that Theo stomped the mud from his boots and climbed into the comfortable front seat of his car before making his way back along the lanes to the homely B&B with the white bolster pillows that he’d been dreaming about.

Bathed now and with a cold beer in his hand, he went down to the library, fancying a read to distract his thoughts.

‘Well, good afternoon to you, Mr Montgomery.’

Mr Whittaker the owner was kneeling by the grate, restacking the log pile and filling the coal bucket from the scuttle. ‘Nice to have you back, sir. Been off exploring? I saw the wellies outside!’

‘I have actually spent the last couple of days thigh-deep in cold water in the middle of bloody nowhere with a fishing rod and a box of warm sandwiches for company.’

Mr Whittaker chuckled loudly. ‘Fishing, eh? Did you enjoy it?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I absolutely hated it. I was cold, miserable and bored witless.’

‘Well, I guess it isn’t for everyone.’

‘I’ll give that a true.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, thought I’d grab a novel.’

‘Be my guest.’ Mr Whittaker indicated the shelves and shelves of dusty books, which again made Theo think of school.

*

Maybe it was a subconscious decision. Theo hadn’t planned on going near his old school, but like a scar that screamed to be itched, and given that it was almost en route to St Barnabas’ Church, Wrendletown, he couldn’t stay away. Slowing the car, he approached with caution, not intending to stop but figuring he would simply have a quick look and drive on. He was surprised to feel none of the angst he associated with the place. It was just a building after all, and a pretty building at that. He thought of Wilson, busily at work on the Bristol project and doing a fine job. It was a revelation that the more time he spent with him, the more he liked him. It was an odd thing to admit that they were slowly building a bridge between colleague and friend.

He pulled the Mercedes across the entrance to the car park, whose gates his father had driven through in his beautiful Aston Martin on many an occasion. The sense of nostalgia left a lump in his throat. He knew that Peregrine James Montgomery the Third, of Theobald’s House, Vaizey College, would have been delighted to see his son returning to the place he’d held so dear.

A car beeped behind him. He looked into his rearview mirror at a man trying to pull in from the lane. Theo raised his hand in acknowledgement and drove forward into the car park. The silver Range Rover rolled past and parked up next to him, disgorging two boys in full games kit. It made him smile, how only a blink ago that had been him, albeit without the enthusiasm these two now showed for getting to their match.

He watched a woman, bent over, struggling with a cardboard box as she lifted it from the boot of an old Golf. And as she straightened he felt his stomach shrink around his bowels.

It was Kitty.

‘Jesus Christ!’ He swallowed and looked behind him, keen to make a hasty retreat, unable to cope with another painful encounter, unwilling to deal with a rerun of the ‘stay away’ glare she’d fired at him on the bus. But with the Range Rover tight behind, he was hemmed in. Trapped.

Becoming aware of his stare, Kitty looked up, blinked and squinted, before placing the cardboard box on the ground and walking over. His heart raced and he was unsure of what to do or how to explain his presence. He didn’t want a scene, especially not here – he didn’t want any more bad memories to heap onto those that already held him captive. He rolled down the window.

‘Theo! Oh my God! Theo, it is you! I don’t believe it!’ she called out with something closer to delight than distress, her fingers lying flat against her chest.

‘Hello, you.’ He beamed, studying her. ‘I didn’t want you to think...’ He ran out of words, not sure what he was apologising for. The image of her on the bus was still crisp in his mind; the way she had implored him with her eyes to stay away.

This was different, felt different. She looked well and wasn’t tense in the way she’d seemed then. She stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words. He climbed slowly from the car, aware of his slightly crumpled suit and the mud clinging to the soles of his shoes.

‘So which is it – hell or high water?’ she asked slowly, her hands on her hips.

‘What?’ He was confused and embarrassed that he hadn’t picked up the thread.

‘I seem to remember you saying that those were the only two things that would ever drag you back here to Vaizey.’

She took a step towards him, her face now only inches from his, as if this was the most natural thing in the world and this was exactly the right distance to have between them. But whereas once he might have held his ground, drinking in every bit of her, today he took a step backwards.

‘Yes, I probably did say that.’ He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘If you must know, I’ve been fishing and I’m about to gatecrash a funeral, if you can believe that.’

‘Oh I believe it.’ She grinned.

‘And what about you?’ He jerked his head towards the school, expecting Angus to pop up from somewhere at any moment. He decided that he would shake Angus’s hand firmly, smile, and meet his eye – getting to know Wilson really had been helpful in laying his school ghosts to rest.

‘Just dropping off.’

‘Where’s Angus?’ he asked, looking over her shoulder towards the quad.

‘How should I know? On a golf course probably.’ She shrugged. ‘Did you think we were still together?’

His gut lurched. ‘Are you not?’

‘No, not for a while. But it works – we share the kids’ care and we are quite good friends now, better friends in fact than we ever were when we were married.’

‘So that’s good?’

‘Yes, it’s good!’ She laughed again. ‘Angus is... with a new partner and happy.’ She nodded and gave a thin smile. ‘So it’s all good!’ A flicker of nerves seemed to have disturbed her casual demeanour. ‘So you’re off to a funeral?’

‘Yes. Mr Porter’s, actually, who used to be the groundsman here.’

‘Oh, I remember him! He had a lovely crinkly smile.’

Theo was happy that she remembered this about him. He pictured Mr Porter standing not far from where they were now, with a wheelbarrow full of compost.

‘I must admit, I never had you down as the huntin’ and fishin’ type! What did you catch?’

‘Nothing.’ He raised his hands and let them fall as he looked skywards. ‘Absolutely nothing. I actually went for the stillness, the quiet.’

‘Stillness and quiet – that sounds like bliss. Sometimes I can hardly hear myself think.’ Theo noted the creasing of her brow. ‘Actually, that’s not fair, I think I keep busy to stop from thinking.’ She bit her bottom lip and he got the impression that she rarely confessed to this.

‘Kitty, I’ve spent the last few years overthinking and it turns out it wasn’t actually very good for me.’ He nodded.

‘Well, good for you, Theodore Montgomery.’ Kitty leant a little further in, her voice now barely more than a whisper. ‘It is so good to see you.’

‘It’s good to see you too.’

‘Are you still married, Theo?’ Her enquiry was casual.

‘Yes, Anna’s great – greater.’ He looked at the ground, flustered.

‘“Great – greater”? Gosh, you really didn’t pay attention in Mr Reeves’s class, did you! That is terrible English!’ She threw back her head and laughed.

He laughed too, glad of the joviality, which erased any nervousness.

There was a beat of awkward silence as both of them allowed their façades to slip.

‘That letter I sent...’ she began, taking a deep breath.

Theo nodded. What could he say?

‘It was a very difficult time for me.’ She shoved her hands in her pockets and held his gaze.

‘It became a very difficult time for me too,’ he acknowledged, quietly.

‘I never in a million years imagined... after that one time...’ She pulled a face as if the words were physically painful. ‘I was about to get married... There was so much going on in my head.’ She tapped her forehead.

‘You don’t need to explain. I’ve spent a lot of hours thinking it through and I get it. I totally see why you didn’t want anything to do with me, didn’t want me in our... your child’s life. Why would you? I’m hardly good father material. I had nothing to offer.’ Weirdo...

‘Oh my God, Theo, is that what you thought?’ Tears filled her eyes.

He nodded.

Kitty shook her head, her mouth twisted as if she was trying to stop herself from crying. ‘No! No, it wasn’t that at all. I’ve never hidden the truth from Sophie – or Angus. Quite the opposite. You, Theodore, are the kindest, sweetest, gentlest friend I ever had. You are smart and funny and any child would be lucky to have you in their life, so lucky. It was never about you! It was only ever about me. I couldn’t see any further than what I was going through. I robbed you.’

An inexplicable feeling of weightlessness came over Theo. He exhaled and leant back on the car, fearing that if he didn’t, he just might fall. ‘But... But then on the bus...’ He faltered.

Kitty shook her head. ‘Angus and I were falling apart, I was pregnant with Oliver, and little Soph...’ She smiled up at him. ‘It would have been too much for Soph right then, and too much for me.’ She sniffed. ‘I am so sorry, Theo. I was young and stupid and frightened when I wrote to you, and if I could—’

‘Mum! Mum, have you got my hockey stick?’

Kitty whipped her head round and smiled through her tears at the confident girl striding towards them.

‘Why are you crying?’ Sophie wrinkled her nose with embarrassment.

‘I’m not.’ Kitty swiped away her tears and pulled her daughter towards her. She took her face inside her hands and kissed her nose. ‘Sophie, this man... This is...’ Emotion stopped the words from forming.

Theo stepped forward and held out his hand.

The young girl with the clear skin, dark curly hair and brown eyes placed her hand confidently in his palm. ‘Hello.’ She smiled. ‘I’m Sophie. Sophie Montgomery Thompson.’

*

Theo didn’t often feel the need to give thanks, but as he parked the car and looked up towards the heavens, he closed his eyes. ‘My name! She has my name! My daughter, my little girl, Sophie – what a wonderful, wonderful, thing!’

Gathering himself, he wondered if he had come to the right place. There were very few cars around and the beautiful moss-covered Norman church looked strangely quiet. He couldn’t help but compare the scene to his father’s funeral, when clusters of well-dressed mourners had stood outside the church in Barnes, dabbing at tears and shaking hands with gusto. He flattened his suit lapels and adjusted his tie before pushing on the heavy arched wooden door. There was only a handful of people inside. A couple of elderly folk were already in situ in the front pews and one or two others, men mainly, had taken seats further back. Theo only glanced at them, avoiding eye contact, feeling like an interloper on this sad day.

A keen-looking moon-faced vicar walked over and handed him a single-page order of service. Theo took it and nodded his thanks. As he gazed down at the black and white photograph of Mr Porter he felt a rush of emotion. He coughed to clear his throat and sat up straight, unable to take another look for fear of losing control in public, in front of strangers. The old man in the picture, ‘the Fishing-Fly Guy’, as Anna called him, looked thinner and very old, but his smile and the crinkle of kindness around his eyes were exactly the same. He was wearing a tweed cap and Theo pictured him raising the front and scratching his head, deep in thought, revealing the dark tan line across his brow.

Music began to play. Theo stood and smiled to hear the faint strains of Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ coming from the speakers as the simple wooden coffin was wheeled up the aisle. The music was most fitting, Theo thought, as he recalled snippets of their conversation about Mr Porter’s wartime service: ‘We were all as scared and desperate as each other. And let me tell you, those that didn’t make it home were mourned by their families just the same, goodies and baddies alike.’ For the second time that day, Theo’s tears threatened.

The vicar followed the coffin to the altar, then stood in front of the grand brass lectern and spread his arms.

‘Welcome, all, to St Barnabas on this sad day when we say goodbye to Cyrus. But I would like to remind you that it is also a happy day, as we celebrate his long life.’

Theo looked around and counted the congregation. There were only thirteen of them in total, and that bothered him. He wondered how different today might have been, how crowded the pews, if Mr Porter’s wife, Merry, had lived and they’d gone on to have children, even grandchildren. He thought then of his own dad, who also never got to be called Grandpa, and again his whole being was filled with the image of Sophie.

The vicar continued. ‘Cyrus Porter was a man who liked to garden.’

As Theo listened to him reading from his crib sheet, he thought how shabby that was – how hard would it have been to learn a few things by heart?

‘He liked to garden and indeed won first prize three years running for his marrows in the village harvest festival competition. He had been a soldier in his youth and fought in France, before taking up the post of gardener at the prestigious Vaizey College, a much revered establishment in our county.’

Theo felt a flash of heat on his skin and, as if powered by something bigger than him, he stood and shuffled to the end of the pew. He walked steadily down the aisle, aware that all eyes were on him as his shoes, now wiped clean, clip-clopped on the tiled floor. He approached the lectern, looking first at the vicar and then at the elderly men and women in the front pew.

‘It wasn’t France.’ He leant in.

‘I’m sorry?’ the vicar asked with a tense, fixed smile.

‘Mr Porter fought his war in Italy. That would have mattered to him. It would have mattered a lot.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ The vicar coloured. ‘I can only go on the information I’ve been given.’ He held up the flimsy sheet of paper that for Theo only added insult to injury.

‘Might I?’ He nodded at the lectern.

The vicar looked towards an old woman in the front pew, who looked bemused but nonetheless gave a slow nod.

Theo took the vicar’s place and gripped the side of the brass stand.

‘My name is Theodore Montgomery. Mr Porter was the groundsman at Vaizey College and that’s where I met him.’ He cursed the tightening of his throat and coughed before resuming. ‘He was so much more than that, however, to a young boy who needed a friend, who needed an ally and an escape. He taught me...’ Theo was only vaguely aware of the tears that now coursed down his cheeks. ‘He taught me more about life than anyone else, before or since. His voice has lived in my head since I was a boy, giving me advice long after I lost contact with him.’ At this he felt a stab of pain as sharp as it had been on that day he’d found the crooked cottage empty. He bowed his head and wiped his face with the back of his hand, seeing himself as a fourteen-year-old falling to his knees and howling. ‘My friend! I’m sorry!’

‘He was so much more than the groundsman of Vaizey College, so much more than a man who grew prize marrows.’ He paused again to regain what composure he could, but his eyes flamed and his tears spilled.

He reached for his suit lapel and turned it over to reveal the small gold pin decorated with a fishing fly of green and blue feathers above a square red bead.

‘He was like a father to me.’

He gripped the sides of the lectern as the breath stuttered in his throat and the tsunami of emotion that had been swelling inside him for so long now found its release. The hush in the church was broken by the creak of a pew near the back. A portly man in his late fifties stood and walked forward until he reached Theo’s side. He turned over his lapel to reveal a similar fishing fly and shook Theo’s hand before turning to the assembled mourners and speaking through a mouth contorted with emotion.

‘He was like a father to me too.’

And then a third man came forward; his fishing fly sat proudly on his shirt. ‘He was like a father to me,’ he offered in a rich Middle Eastern accent.

Then up came a fourth, a fifth, a sixth and a seventh, all of them standing in a line behind the coffin of the man who had scooped them up when they had needed him the most and cared for them when kindness had been in short supply. Their collective tears turned to laughter as they stood shoulder to shoulder, the now grown-up sons of very, very busy people.

Each had thought they were the only one.

‘Seemingly Cyrus was a most wonderful man!’ The vicar stood next to them, giving words to the air of celebration that now filled the church. ‘How very lucky you all were to have him guide you when you were at your most vulnerable.’

‘Yes.’ Theo nodded, still unable to stem his sadness. ‘Very lucky.’

It no longer mattered that there were only thirteen people present. The love those thirteen felt for Mr Porter could have filled a cathedral built for a thousand mourners.

Later, as he threw dirt into the freshly dug hole that had received his dear friend, Theo felt a strange sense of elation.

‘Mr Montgomery?’ a voice called from the church path as he was making his way back to the car.

‘Yes?’ He turned to stare at the elderly woman from the front pew, who was supported by a nurse on one side.

‘I’m Nelda, Merry’s sister,’ she explained in a rasping voice. ‘Cyrus was my brother-in-law.’

‘Yes, of course. Hello!’ He shook her hand warmly; the skin was paper thin and cool beneath his touch. ‘I’m sorry if I...’ He pointed towards the church, feeling a little awkward now, in the daylight, that he had taken centre stage without invitation.

‘No, don’t be sorry.’ She shook her head and smiled at him. ‘Cyrus would have been so very proud, touched, I know. I have something for you. He didn’t leave any instructions, but my son found an envelope in a box and it has your name on it. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have known where to begin if you hadn’t shown up today – I would probably have discarded it. But that’s by the by, because here you are.’

‘Yes, here I am.’ He smiled. ‘Where is it, the envelope?’

‘Back at his house. Only five minutes’ drive.’

Theo followed Nelda’s Ford along the winding lanes until they came to the village of Marlstonbury. Having left the nurse in the pub, he and Nelda made their way slowly across the village green, Nelda holding onto his arm.

‘I’m glad the rain held off. It’s turned out nice after all.’ She waved her stick towards the sky.

‘Yes, it has. Is your son here today?’

‘No, he had to go back to Glasgow – that’s where he lives now. So far away. I do miss him.’

He thought of Spud.

‘Here we are, at Cyrus’s house.’ She pointed ahead and there, next to a paddock, sat a small cottage, not quite crooked but not far off. ‘Not quite sure what we’ll do with it – sell it, I suppose.’ Nelda pulled out a key from her handbag and opened the front door.

Theo stepped into the narrow hallway. The peculiar aroma – of earth, smoke, oil and wood – instantly took him back to the day when, at seven years old, a cottage like this had provided him with a refuge, a home.

‘Do you know, I once slept in the little house Mr Porter lived in at Vaizey College. It was in the grounds of the school and it was very much like this. I felt safe and cosy and I remember thinking how lovely it must be to wake up like that every single day of your life. I was about fourteen.’

‘Did you not have parents?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

‘I did, yes, but they were... they were very busy people.’

She gave a nod of understanding.

‘How did Merry die? If you don’t mind me asking.’

Nelda inhaled sharply, as if the event was still fresh or at least still hurt as much as ever.

‘It was a terrible thing for us all. She was my older sister and she was an adventurer. It’s a sad story. She was a newly qualified nurse and got caught in a bombing raid on Liverpool during the war. She was injured but didn’t die. My family were of course overjoyed that she’d survived, but we didn’t understand just how badly she’d been damaged. She was very quiet, stoic and I like to think she hung on to see Cyrus home safe, but she was never properly well again and she died three weeks after he came home from Italy. I was always glad they’d had that short time together.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Long, long time ago. Another world.’ She patted his arm before wandering into the adjoining sitting room.

He let his eyes scan the shelves crammed with books, recognising many of the dusty knick-knacks and ornaments that sat in a row on the mantelpiece. He looked through to the tiny kitchen and there on top of the cupboard sat the green enamel kettle. He again cursed the tears that gathered.

‘Here we are then.’ Nelda held out her hand. In it lay a cream-coloured envelope with his name inscribed on the front in handwriting he recognised.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

Nelda bent forward and held him in a loose hug. ‘He would have been so happy to hear what you said today. And who knows, maybe he did?’

Theo smiled and considered this.

*

He abandoned his car in Muckleford just as the sun broke though the clouds and set off along the bridleway, climbing steadily. The track opened up and he trod the incline with his hands in his pockets until eventually, with his breath coming in short bursts, he reached Jackman’s Cross. His chest heaved and the cool wind stung his skin. The view was every bit as breathtaking as he remembered from his walk there with Mr Porter. He let his eyes rove the horizon, taking in the spires of distant churches and the glorious swathe of green fields. Tucking his mac beneath his legs, he sat down on the damp earth of the hill and reached into his pocket for his letter.

The envelope opened with ease, the old glue having yellowed and turned quite brittle. Carefully, he extracted a lined sheet of A4 paper, torn from a gummed pad. The top line read:

The World through the Eyes of a Blackbird

by Theodore Montgomery.

Oh my God! My homework assignment!

Theo paused and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before holding the paper up to his face and reading it. He devoured the first two paragraphs with a tremble to his lip and a clamp around his heart. But it was the final few lines of the third paragraph that really made him smile. His tears fell as the wind lifted his hair and his spirits.

As I make my way over fields and lakes, marvelling at the changing landscape below me, I realise that what I learn year on year is what makes me stronger. With strength comes confidence and with confidence comes the ability to be the master of my life, to own my happiness and to make the changes necessary to be the best I can be. And that is why I sing! I sing loudly! Letting the world know that I might be small in the scheme of things, I might be just a bird, but what do I bring to the world? I bring this, my own unique song.

Theo sat for some minutes with tears in his eyes until he felt able to do what he’d been wanting to do for a very long time. He lifted his phone from his pocket and with a sense that time was chasing him, he dialled the number for home.

‘Hello?’

‘Anna?’

‘Theo! Oh my God, I’ve been so worried about you. Radio silence is never good! Are you okay?’

‘I’m...’ The strength of his emotions made speech almost impossible. ‘I’m more than okay,’ he managed.

‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ Her relief was palpable. ‘I... I found your note in the study. Your list – your mum told me where to find it and I love it!’

He could hear the joy in her voice and it warmed him. ‘You did?’

‘I did! I really did. You alphabetised me! You did my game.’

‘I tried.’ He laughed. ‘It was a long time ago, but I wanted so badly to get it right. I wanted you to know how much I loved you, how much I love you.’

‘Oh, Theo, it’s perfect. It...’ There was a hesitation and Theo thought he heard a sob. ‘It... couldn’t have been written by anyone but you, Theo. Only you know me that well.’

It was Theo’s turn now to try and mask his sobs.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Theo, and it seems such a waste, all this... being apart.’ She sniffed down the line. ‘I love the things you wrote about me. They’ve made me happy.’ The sound of another sob. ‘H for happy...’

‘I want to make you H for happy, Anna. I really do.’

There was a pause, then Anna changed tack. ‘Are you outside somewhere?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m on the top of a hill looking at the whole wide world.’

‘Are you drunk?’ she asked. ‘You sound... different. More... emotional. Has something happened?’

‘I’m not drunk, no, but I do feel as if a mist has lifted. That’s the only way I can describe it. I went fishing and then I went to Mr Porter’s funeral, and I even visited Vaizey College, and something strange has happened to me... I feel like I can see clearly for the first time.’

‘In what way?’

Her tone was heartbreakingly hopeful, and he pictured her clutching the phone to her ear, wondering what on earth he was going to say next.

‘I met Sophie. I met her, Anna, properly met her – totally by chance – and she is incredible. And I want you to meet Sophie. I want to grow up, Anna. I want the responsibility of being the best husband I can possibly be. I’m not going to let the past shape me, not any more. Someone...’ He swallowed. ‘Someone whose opinion I valued above all others—’

‘Let me guess – Mr Porter, the Fishing-Fly Guy?’

‘Yes!’ He laughed. ‘The Fishing-Fly Guy. He’s just told me that I need to be the master of my own life, to take charge, be confident and watch the changes. I need to cut away the shadows of my childhood.’

‘Oh my God, he is right, Theo, he is absolutely right, and you can do it, we can do it! I have Shania and the twins here and, oh, Theo, seeing those two new lives begin to blossom, it’s such a pleasure and a privilege. You will fall for them just as I have, I know you will. Your Fishing-Fly Guy is absolutely right, my love – the universe is a marvel.’

‘Yes, it is, and I want us to discover it together, my Anna. My love. I’m coming home. I’m coming home to make a plan. We should try and be parents, Anna, just like you’ve always said we should. No ifs or buts. There are kids that need guidance, kids like you and kids like me. We will try our very hardest and one way or another we will make our family. I’m going to be a dad, and you are going to be the best mum ever.’

‘Theo...’ she managed. ‘My Theo.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m coming home.’ He spoke quickly. ‘I am sorry, so sorry, that I held back, that I didn’t give you all of me, but I will make it up to you, I promise. We have time – we have all the time in the world. Mr Porter was eighty when he died – that means we aren’t even halfway through! My Anna, we’re going to live the best life!’

His energy was infectious. ‘My Theodore, you have no idea how happy I am right now. Drive safely. I love you!’

‘I love you too.’

‘And I will be waiting for you, right here. Griff and me.’

Theo placed his phone back in his pocket and looked out towards the hedgerows, where blackbirds, dunnocks and wrens were busy feeding their young and keeping their nests nice and cosy, doing all they needed for their little families to flourish.

He stood and reached for the keys in his pocket.

‘I’m coming home, Anna! I’m coming home.’