I turned towards the house so I wasn’t looking out towards the old swimming pool. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of a faceless woman if I woke during the night. I had drunk enough beer to be sleepy and for my edges to be blurred.

Joe turned his back to me without saying goodnight. We did not talk any more.

I was tired in my bones and soon fell asleep. I must have slept well, because nothing disturbed me and my dreams were pleasant ones of children running in and out of the villa, crossing the courtyard to reach the swimming pool, which was full of clean blue water, the sunlight making shifting patterns on its base.

By the time the aching from the old wound in my hip woke me, a pale dawn was breaking, the night sky streaked with watery light. Although the sun was not yet risen, the dawn chorus had begun to chirp. I eased myself up onto an elbow and looked, sleepy eyed, at the garden, so different in this new-day light, its colours soft and hazy.

Joe had turned over in the night and was facing me now. His mouth was open and he was snoring gently. His jaw was stubbled. His eyes were surrounded by dozens of lines that were more defined because of his tan. I saw the pouches of flesh beneath his eyes, and the slackened skin at the jaw, the pores on the sides of his nostrils. Because he was sleeping, I had the chance to study his face and I had that surreal sense that often comes when you meet someone you haven’t seen in years: simultaneously recognising every tiny thing about that person and at the same time seeing how much they have changed.

I manoeuvred my sore body into a sitting position, rubbing my elbows and massaging my wrists. Sparrows were pecking amongst the detritus of last night’s meal. The candles were burned out, a small, withered piece of black wick submerged in a congealed pool of wax at the base of each jar.

I could hear the sea beyond the birdsong and now the sun was rising, the sky glowed incandescent. My throat was dry.

Quietly and carefully, I unzipped my sleeping bag and pushed myself up onto my bare feet, pulling down the jumper that had ridden up in the night, stretching out the pains in my back and hip.

The villa was behind me. In the early morning light, it seemed bigger and lovelier. I noticed details I hadn’t noticed before: the chimney pots, window boxes and ornamental downspouts; valerian growing from cracks in the walls. If the villa and its gardens were restored, if it were made to look as it had been intended to look, I could see that it would be the most heavenly place.