"I never took you to England," he says, and here, he's wistful. There's so much they never did together, whether because the world was falling down around them, or because one or both of them were cowards. It lacks the weight of his real sorrow, but there's an unelaborated regret there all the same. "But I took you to the Bahamas. Not so different from Florida, but half the time, we pretended we were perpetual tourists. We blended in better that way - and the United States doesn't have...a great relationship with Bahamian authorities. It was harder to get to us."

What else? So much else. "You loved it - I think if you were reincarnated as a seal, you'd have a blissful life. I don't think you appreciated the comparison then - but lying out on the beach, swimming in the ocean, coming back to our rooms...we worked there, but we didn't need much to get by. Mostly because I started burning us dinner.

"I'm a master at cooking rice and beans now," he adds, and there's something amused in his voice. It's so far from the cuisine either of them grew up with - but you buy what's there, and what's cheap, and they could get a long way on pigeon peas and long-grain rice. "Grits with sardines on top - it's better than it sounds. The catch of the day, whatever it was. You were very proud when I lit the grill myself."