And yet, tonight was truly wonderful, a special family evening – the irony of it being that Nico was there, when it should have been Aiden.

After breakfast, Nico takes Owen, Hannah and Liam on a tour of the facilities and they eventually catch up with me in the old craft room. They are all in high spirits and I’ve never seen Nico so relaxed and upbeat. Clearly it was the financial pressure he’s been under that has been weighing him down in recent weeks and now he’s free of at least one of his major worries.

I think he couldn’t face the prospect of having to tell everyone there was no future for them here, because that would have made him his father’s son. A person who let his own personal torment eat away at him to the extent that it affected everyone around him. Nico isn’t simply an artist and mentor, he’s a motivator. Someone who can’t bear to see anyone not fully utilising their natural-born skills. He has created a home for a group of people who were seeking something that would give their lives back some meaning, and he has done that organically.

He understood that need because it mirrored his own situation and the universe has an inherent ability to draw like-minded people together. That’s why I found my way here – this has become my temporary home and, right now, I feel I belong here, too.

Nico could have an easy life, spending his days painting and selling fewer pieces if he only had his own needs to consider. But what he’s been through, and continues to suffer, has drawn those kindred souls to him. What he has created here is bigger than any one individual; bigger even than his immense talent as an artist.

‘I’m handing our guests over to you, Fern. Maybe head into town to do some sightseeing, or venture up into the hills,’ he suggests, but Owen interrupts before I can reply.

‘Look, there’s a lot of work to do here and I don’t know about you two,’ he casts a glance at his sister and her fiancé, ‘but we’d like to help. The more hands available, the quicker it will get done, it seems to me.’

Nico and I exchange hesitant glances.

‘But this is a little break for you all,’ I reply, adamantly.

However, all three of them are scanning around and look keen to help out.

‘I’m good with flat-pack furniture,’ Owen throws in. ‘Dad sells enough of it and I always assemble the pieces for the displays.’

He casts a glance at Taylor and Bastien, who are knelt on the floor with a partially-built carcass that could be the bare bones of anything at all. Alongside them, lying open, is an incredibly thick instruction booklet. Next to that are about a dozen piles of different nuts, bolts, screws, washers and small wooden dowels.