He has done quite a good job in there, I must say. Some shelving as you enter, a little kitchenette. I would prefer a splash of colour, but you men are different. Somewhat sparse but rather neat and tidy. Then I came to the bed.

Atop, Charlie was lying in his underwear only, surrounded by maybe a dozen bottles. I did not count, though I did note there was whisky and rum and wine amongst them. All empty, bar the vodka bottle in his hand.

I removed it promptly and poured it down the sink. He tried to protest but was so inebriated he was unable to even raise his arm.

I cleaned up the mess around him and got a washer and bucket of soapy water to clean him up. The stench! I have never smelled anything quite like it.

Once he was tidied, I pulled his covers tight and he fell asleep immediately. Or perhaps he fell unconscious. Either way, I was not able to leave him alone.

So, I pulled the old armchair next to his bed and settled in.

On day two he became quite agitated and demanded to know where his drink was. When I told him it was gone, he screamed at me and threw his bed linen at my head. Luckily it was soft furnishings as I am not as nimble and quick-of-reflex as I once was.

I will confess, my dearest, that I was quite frightened. I have never seen such anger and I certainly felt like fleeing. I do not know why I stayed.

That is a lie. Of course I know. I owed him. I owed him for that night on the beach. I owed him for the years of companionship that have kept me going. Besides, what have I at this stage of my fading life to lose?

I could not abandon him.

On day three he was silent and still, just lying there. I remained silent also, simply watching. He refused to eat and only drank water when I was insistent.

This morning we took a walk together down to the cove. He confided in me that it had been five years this very day since the incident he had fled and he had been hoping to pass it by in a drunken stupor.

The irony was not lost on me and I imagine cut even closer to the bone for him.

He sobbed in my arms, wondering what had become of those he had left behind. I told him it was not too late to find out.

‘Clearly it is,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’

‘I see a man whose guilt and pain have overwhelmed him. But no more.’ I looked him in the eye. ‘No more.’

He stared at me and I held his gaze. He put his right hand over his left chest. ‘My promise to you,’ he said. ‘I’ll never take another sip.’