Tony had spent his professional career before the stroke in civil engineering, bringing up his family as globe-trotters, with spells in Hong Kong and various parts of the Gulf. All around his room were framed photographs of those distant times. In the centre of all these pictures was a tanned, handsome man with a mischievous glint in his eye. In one he was skydiving, in another playing rugby. It only took a second to realise that this was Tony, but that second was necessary to connect the bloke with his arm round Jane in some of the snaps and the occupant of the room. That man had gone forever, as far as Tony was concerned, and the loss was unbearable. I tried to coax him to recall past exploits, but he wouldn’t.