Freddie appeared, relaxed, smiling, cute. Better than the sad, anxious boy I met in Oxford. He looked like he was OK. I can't remember what we said at first but quite soon l asked him sadly, ‘Am l just talking to myself here?’ And he said ‘just go with it', which made me laugh, and l carried on. I started asking him questions about why he had killed himself and then I realised l was rambling on and on, in the same way that I'd rambled on in the hotel room, when I should have just had the confidence to be with him and kiss him. And then he kissed me. The room spun around us and, still in the kiss, I heard his voice say, ‘I would have killed myself anyway.’ I cried a lot. I asked, 'Why . . .? Why did you . . .?' He shrugged and said, ‘This is your time.’ ’But, so are you . . . are you gay or. . .?' He said, ’Where I am now, it's not really a thing.’ it was so good to see him again.