Jessie, keep the bananas separate from the other fruit or they’ll rot.

Jessie, please squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom.

Jessie, where have you put my pen, mug, trainers, socks, razor?

I just ignore him. He’ll give up, eventually, and do things my way.

Tangled branches clasped each other beneath the dark sky. A rushing river in the distance. Movement of wings in the trees. Soft bed of leaves and twigs underneath our trainers. Both wearing trackies. Mine were dark blue with a silver stripe. His were light grey with a dark blue stripe. Got them in Olympus Sportswear, Oxford Street. My idea. Practical.

‘Holidays were what other families did,’ he said, staring into the burning bracken.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Yes, you and me both.’

‘No, I mean tell me about your family. What was it like to have one? What was it like to lose one?’

He shook his head and let the flames hypnotize him.

I poured some Armagnac into plastic beakers.

‘Liquid gold,’ I said, gulping it back in one swig.

And we’d lost the moment.

Threw a rosemary bush on to the fire. It filled the air with incense. It was just me, him, our secrets, the fire, the night and good times ahead …

‘Thank you for bringing me here, Jessie. I feel so alive. I could be here for ever.’

He looked up and we soaked up each other’s appreciative gaze. You and me both, I was tempted to agree.

Hall of Mirrors, Versailles

The Château de Versailles is one of the largest palaces the world has ever known, and it swallows its mass of visitors whole, without so much as a genteel burp. Upon entering the forecourt, Stanley’s mouth released silent exclamation marks. Jessie’s mouth clamped shut as she swept up the vista with a reluctant glance, then dumped it right back down again.

Wintertime, Versailles was often obscured beneath a mantle of snow; the only signs of life were puffs of charcoal emanating from the lodges on the outskirts. Summertime, the gardens erupted into orchestrated displays of technicolour, the paths besieged by tourists. This early spring invited a smaller clientele, the real business taking place underground, where pods passed through their fleeting teenage months, waiting for the cyclic sun to draw them out of themselves and into a rampant, flush-faced maturity.

I cruise above its panoramic grounds,

black nun’s habit billowing …

Jessie and Stanley hooked fingers within the maze of gardens, which spun out geometrically around a main axis with radiating pathways, pools and arbors. Versailles, Stanley decided, with its two thousand windows, seven hundred rooms and two thousand acres of park, was simply the most spectacular place he had ever visited. And here he was, mid-week, mid-day, mid-life (almost), and, instead of staring listlessly out of his office menagerie, he was daring to align himself with the sky and follow the changing landscapes that spread beneath it.