I shrank back in distress, trying to come to terms with this bolt from the blue; also trying hard to hide behind burly Jazz as Lucien Delano began to speak.

That heartbreakingly familiar voice from that single night of passion, raspy and gruff, thanked the people who had turned up to wish him well. He made a joke, and everyone roared with laughter, but I wasn't listening; something about an injury while “f*cking a woman” which had somehow led to his being hurt in the leg, which was ...