‘Sorry, I forgot to ask . . . What was it you wanted to tell me?’

His voice murmurs in my ear and we pull apart slightly. And it’s then, across the other side of the room, I catch sight of Valentine. He’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking over at us. I see his expression and know instinctively that it’s time. Because life isn’t always about perfect timing.

‘Ben.’ I stop dancing.

‘Yes?’

‘Can we go somewhere quieter. It’s about your dad.’

Dearest Sis,

I’ve never been much good at knowing where to start. You were always the organized one, not me. Start at the beginning – isn’t that what Granddad always used to say? Only I don’t really know where it all started and, when I try, I get tangled up in knots.

So instead of trying to find the beginning, I’m going to start right now. Here. On the balcony of an old hacienda, overlooking a courtyard filled with the most beautiful crimson bougainvillea, in a little town in north-western Mexico. I like to sit here and have my morning coffee and eggs. They do the best eggs here, Liv. I like to eat them with fresh flour tortillas and green salsa, and watch the geckos sunning themselves on the old adobe walls.

I read all your emails. I just never knew how to reply. There was so much to say, and it all felt so hard. I’m sorry. I let you down. I should’ve got in touch, only the longer I left it, the harder it got. I wasn’t mad at you. I was never mad at you; I was mad at myself. For not getting it together, for screwing things up. After Dad died, I fell apart and I hurt a lot of people. I hurt you. And it felt easier for everyone if I disappeared.

Ever get that feeling?

I didn’t have any kind of plan. You know me. I just wanted to get away, switch off, check out of my life. So I threw some stuff and my cameras in a backpack and started travelling. When I ran out of money I’d hitch a ride, do some odd jobs, wait on a few tables. There was always something I could do. I ended up in South America for a while, travelling around, taking photos. I never really intended not to come back, but every day it got easier to stay away.

I was hiking in Patagonia with a group of people when I met a couple who owned a hotel. They saw my camera and asked to see my photos, and whether they could buy some of them to hang in their rooms. Turns out they own a large chain of exclusive boutique hotels – and several thousand hotel rooms all over the world. So that’s what I do now. I take photographs for them, mostly of nature and wildlife, and of everyone’s favourite: sunsets.

One of their hotels is this lovely old hacienda in Mexico. I’m staying here for Christmas and the holidays. I like it here. I’m back on my meds and I feel so much better. I’ve been doing a lot of therapy. But mostly the best therapy for me is being out in nature: just me and my camera, doing what I love best.