I know I will. But I’ll make it just the two of us, Simon and me. And he can tell me all the stories. I want to have another look at it when I haven’t just landed, and my brain isn’t still slaloming its way across the Pacific.

Faye comes down the stairs, in a black pencil skirt and black jacket, carrying a black bag with a gold clasp. She maintains the immaculate grooming of her flight-attendant heyday in the nineties, her hair in a gleaming chignon with not a strand out of place. She now owns a travel agency specialising in tours and getaways for women. Groups or individuals, no hens’ nights. She was clear about that when she mentioned it yesterday.

Before we arrived, Faye had Jonalyn arrange towels on our bed into fans, and stock the ensuite bathroom with organic mini-soaps, moisturisers and potpourri.

‘Good talk?’ she says, looking at Simon.

‘Yeah.’ He glances at me, as if he needs to check.

She’s stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for more.

‘Oh,’ he says. He points to a book on the counter. It’s A4-size, blue, with a matt cover. ‘I found that Schubert score under the coffee table earlier. Do you think Annabel needs it? Do you reckon I should call her?’

Annabel is fifteen and at orchestra camp until tomorrow. She is the owner of the school water bottle I’ve carried on the walk. She plays violin.

‘I reckon,’ Faye says, in a way that makes the word seem unnatural to her, ‘that you should leave her in peace. We have to let her focus on the camp. You have to stop finding reasons to call her.’

‘I’m not . . . I just . . .’ He sets his fingertips on the score, but doesn’t pick it up.

Faye laughs. ‘It’s good you’re here,’ she says to me. ‘Take his mind off Annabel and what she’s doing. He’s gone from A350 pilot to helicopter dad these past few months.’

‘I’m here more,’ he says. There’s a defensive tone to it, but he’s smiling. ‘I’m more on top of the day-to-day stuff.’

‘Which does not include driving Schubert across Hong Kong.’ Faye’s heels click on the tiles as she goes to the door. ‘In case there’s any doubt. Anyway, that book is pieces for string quartets. Camp is whole orchestra.’

Jonalyn has coffee brewing once I’ve had my shower. Simon is already drinking a green smoothie, and Jonalyn offers to make me one too.

When I tell her I think I’ll just have cereal, she says, ‘Just cereal? I’ll give you some fruit too. Fruit goes well with cereal.’