Todor could sense my … what was the big word he used to describe how I was feeling? … ambivalence. We’d have a weekly beer in a local dive bar. Back then he was a parish priest up I-5 in Santa Clarita: a place he described to me as ‘early nowhere’ and where (as he also noted) ‘drama of any sort – outside of people being unhappy with the routine of their lives or dying too young from something unfair – was seriously lacking’. Privately he told me that, as he too was now over thirty, he had to bide his time and excel in every parish he was offered … but he had his eyes on bigger prizes: like a tough inner-city parish or somewhere really monied and influential like Brentwood. A third beer (with shots of Jameson on the side) and he would occasionally admit his own worries about having ‘bought into a system that provides lifetime and eternal security in exchange for so much’. Whereas other moments he would profess the wonder of his faith and how he was determined to ascend the Vatican ladder, determined to become a bishop by forty-five.

I heard out Todor’s uncertainties alongside his almost ecstatic flashes of conviction. I offered little in the way of advice. That is not my style … and Todor didn’t want it. As he himself admitted, the priest in him preferred giving counsel rather than receiving it. When it came to my own doubts about having dug myself into all the responsibilities of marriage, Todor was both understanding and smart.

‘You yourself had reached a point in your life when you felt the need to reject the loneliness that I know you felt and create a life with someone else. And you did tell me repeatedly early on how right Agnieska was for you – especially as you all but grew up together in the same way. All couples go through a big bump when the first child arrives. It is a huge change of life – and the biggest responsibility either of you will ever have. But all the love you felt at the outset will come back, Brendan. Especially when little Karol finally starts sleeping.’

That night happened four weeks later. On the day that Karol was nine months old. We all went to bed that night around ten, Karol quickly asleep in his cot near our bed. For the first time in many months Agnieska allowed me to make love to her. It was good. That sense of desire we once had for each other was now rekindling again. We held each other afterwards. I fell asleep thinking: this is going to be okay. When I next opened my eyes it was seven in the morning. Karol had not cried once during the night.

One minute later my wife was holding our baby in her arms and screaming. Because Karol was no longer breathing. Because our son was dead.