“Maybe keep your limbs and use your brain instead,” he advises gently. “My son is impulsive and chaotic at times, Zeb, but he’s the kindest and oldest soul you’ll ever meet.” He smiles at me, and I see an acceptance in his eyes that warms me. “I think you’ll suit him very well. I think you’ll actually suit each other. Relationships are all about finding that moment of balance and equilibrium so you don’t fall over in life. You’ll steady him out, and he’ll set you free to move along without any brakes for a bit.”

“I need to see him,” I say, and I can hear the ache in my voice.

He stands up. “I’ve got to go up to the church because I left my sermon for tomorrow up there. I’ll show you the way.”

We walk out of the study, and I smile at the photos that line the wall. Jesse’s mum is extraordinarily beautiful. She looks a little like Sophia Loren, with jet-black hair, prominent cheekbones and a slightly wild look. It’s easy to see where Jesse’s looks come from. I pause by one photograph. It’s a black and white large photo of a young Jesse. He’s standing in the garden staring at the camera with a huge gappy smile. The charm is evident in every inch of him even then.

His father shakes his head. “He was such a rambunctious boy. Always running and shouting. Never quiet.”

“He’s not changed much,” I say honestly. “He’s still extremely noisy.”

He laughs. “He hated school. Couldn’t abide to be caged up. It still amazes me that he’s endured university, but I suppose that it was easier for him because it was for the job he wanted. He’s the most astute and caring young man. He studies people because he likes to make them happy.”

“He’ll make an excellent social worker.”

He nods and taps Jesse’s face affectionately. “My mother always called him a merry soul. She wasn’t wrong.”

We walk out of the door and blink in the bright sunlight before he guides me to a path leading towards the stone bulk of the church.

“If you don’t mind me saying, I’m a little surprised that we’ve had this conversation so easily,” I say tentatively.