I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that I said those words to you. I was worried and heartsick, and you were there, and so I took it out on you as if, for some stupid reason, it was your fault. It was utterly unforgivable of me.

I didn’t mean what I said. Actually, let me clarify that. When I first met you, I did believe that. I met you, and I saw the ideal companion for my time in London. Someone who was footloose and fancy-free. Someone who ran away from any ties. What better companion for a person who had a big decision to make and was making every effort not to do so? I could lose myself with you and know that you would never care enough to ask me questions.

I decided to draw up my list of all the places I wanted to see and things I wanted to do in case of the worst-case scenario. And you were perfect for doing them with. You made me laugh and drew me out of my terror. The fear was always there waiting in the wings, but you kept it at bay. You were like my knight in QC robes, and I seized on you as if you were a lifejacket.

But in the process, I found out you were so much more. You’re loyal and kind beneath the sharp sarcasm. You’re fiercely and unapologetically yourself, and you made me ashamed of the man I had become. A coward hiding from life in the company of someone who throws himself headfirst into it. Rather ironic.

You’ll never know how many times I opened my mouth to tell you, to ask your advice. But every time it happened, I closed my lips, and I still don’t know why. Maybe because if I told you, you would have forced me to address it. Perhaps because you would have looked at me differently. With pity. The irony is I’d decided to tell you, but I waited too long, and you found out. And then I hurt you. I could see it in your eyes, and it made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted that, Mags.

I know you don’t want to see or speak to me and I completely understand why. I won’t push it.

I would just like you to know that it has been one of the great honours of my life to get to know the real you. I hope you know that you got the same with me. I’m not much, really. Scared and stubborn and ferociously independent. I don’t let people in, but somehow, I did with you, and the result was a beautifully unexpected summer in London.