I relax. I’ve never had a conversation like this with Jake. Or at least not for a long time. I don’t know what drives him anymore. Is it greed, ambition, desire? Whatever it is, I’m sure his actions aren’t primarily motivated by compassion and spirituality. I feel I know more about what makes Dean tick in a few short hours than I did in four years with the man I was planning to settle down and have children with. It’s a scary thought. I guess you can spend a lot of time avoiding conversation when there’s so much more to fill your lives with—books, newspapers, cinema, TV, theatre, dinners with friends, shopping. It’s amazing how the old arts come back when there’s really nothing else to do.

‘I’ve talked too much.’ Dean sounds sorry.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not at all.’ I turn to face him. ‘I was just thinking how nice it is. How long since I’ve talked like this. I’m out of practice.’

A breeze blows up and I shiver.

‘It’s getting late,’ Dean says. ‘We have a long day tomorrow.’

When I look up, the others have already gone to their tents. I can see their head torches moving around under the canvas and the murmur of low voices, the rasping of zips. The porters are settled down for the night, all huddled together for warmth in the dining tent.

Dean helps me up. There is a pleasant tiredness seeping through all my bones. ‘Mmm,’ I say in agreement. ‘It’s late.’

My guide helps me back to my tent. He leaves me at my door—or flap to be more accurate—and gives my hand a squeeze.

‘Goodnight,’ he says. ‘I’ll be right next door if you need me.’

I’m not sure if that thought makes me feel better or not. He disappears and ducks into his tent. I follow suit, crouching down in the cramped space. Sitting on my sleeping bag, I start to get undressed. I’m not sure how many clothes I’m happy removing whilst sleeping in a field, so I’ve brought some cosy, fleecy pyjamas with Tiggers all over them—not a great look for a thirty-four-year-old possibly, but comfort takes precedence over all other considerations these days. I can’t believe how many trappings of my former life I’ve been persuaded to leave behind—I’ve no make-up on, so there’s no lengthy process involving make-up removal, I’ve only got bottled water with me, so teeth brushing even with the best intentions is a bit cursory. I’ve got no epilator, no Perfect Pout, no hair gel, no straightening products, no anti-wrinkle cream. My ablutions severely curtailed, I’m in my sleeping bag and tucked up within seconds.