As I climb into the cockpit alongside him, my body tingles as though my blood is starting to carbonate. I went on some white-knuckle flights after my elective in Africa while I was a student, but this is different. This is good scary.

Pure.

As Des taxis, he talks me through the controls but I’m struggling to focus on his commentary. I want to be up in the cold and the blue. The plane speeds up and I’m aware of our weight and that of the metal fuselage. Even though I understand the basic laws of aerodynamics, it seems impossible that we are about to leave the tarmac and take off . . .

But now we do, and it feels so right.

Des is still gabbling about lift and drag, and of course it matters if I am ever to do this myself – and I want to. Yet there’s something almost sacrilegious about interrupting this moment.

‘Please, can I just . . .’

‘You’re here to learn and—’

Finally, he does fall silent. The engines roar but apart from that, this moment is perfect.

So perfect I can’t believe it.

Who gave this to me? Maybe this does come from a stranger whose life I saved after all. Except how would a stranger know this would be my idea of heaven?

In the distance, I can see Brighton. The poor old pier keeps shrinking as the waves bite into her metal skeleton. Just inland, the turquoise roofs of the beach huts form one stripe, and the bright green Lawns another.

I try to dismiss the name that comes into my head. Ridiculous.

And yet he seemed as shocked as I was when I saw him again at New Year. Is this an apology, or thank you, or—

‘Am I allowed to speak again yet?’ Des asks.

‘Yes. Sorry. It was because . . .’ I don’t have the words to describe why this is so faultless. Perhaps it’s that no one can get to me here. There are no expectations. No demands. Just sky and land and sea. And us in between.

‘Special, isn’t it?’ Des says.

‘You’ve no idea how amazing it makes me feel.’

After the flight, I meet Ant for coffee at the Girasol. He’s rebranded it as The Dizzy Sunflower and gone upmarket, everything organic and fair trade and the rest. His wife Ellie bakes incredible cakes and they have three-year-old twins, Lola and Mia, who look like they’ve walked straight out of the Boden catalogue.

‘How was it?’ he asks.

‘Sensational. The perspective it gives you is incredible.’

‘Where’s your selfie?’

I shake my head. ‘Ugh, what is it with this selfie stuff? I don’t need a photo because I’m never going to forget how that felt.’ I look up at the sky and decide it’s now or never. ‘Ant, do you think it could have been Joel who arranged it?’