Whenever James needed a moment to himself, he would always come back to this same place. Tonight the air was draughty, the faintest pinch of autumn stirring. He flipped up his hood and pulled on the drawstrings until only his nose poked through.

He listened.

The floorboards creaked underfoot and there was a tinkle of curious carp ruffling the skin of the lake. He drew esses in the water with his fingertips and watched the shoals dart away in zigzags. A familiar warmth rose in him, which tonight he needed.

Beyond the lake, the horizon caught fire, glowing, lambent. He knew this was her. And for the first time, he did not feel alone.

He would spend an hour or so here, savouring the last of the evening’s light, smiling to himself at the flicker of memories, and, before heading back to the house, he’d speak aloud the words he repeated every year.

“Happy birthday, sis.”