He found me on the sofa. I wasn’t much to look at – shirt rumpled, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes puffy and red. I hid my face in my hands, ashamed. I didn’t want him to see me this way. What would he think of the young master now? I tried to straighten up but my body was numb. ‘What’s the point, Bertram?’ it seemed to tell me.

So I slumped there on the sofa and hid my face in my hands like a child. My eyes were wet, and I hated them for it. He would see – he would see my tears and my emptiness and my ugliness, and he would not love me like before.

‘I need – I need you to leave, Jeeves,’ I lied. My voice was shaky and weak.

For a moment there was silence, and I thought he’d left. But then I felt the sofa shift under his weight, and his voice, soft and clear, ‘If it is truly what you need, I will leave. But – I would grateful if you would let me help.’

I looked up at him. Calm, wise, handsome, perfect as always; he was sitting next to me, both his feet firmly on the ground when mine were folded beneath me. His grey eyes held infinite tenderness, infinite trust, and pain that I knew was my doing. I wished I had the strength to stand up straight and smile, to say ‘Oh that was nothing, Jeeves. A momentary lapse. Carry on, now.’

Instead I reached out and traced his jaw with my finger, refusing to let him see my weakness, but not quite willing to let him go. ‘I had the most bally awful day,’ I muttered.

‘Do you –’

‘No, I would rather forget… Talking about it will only make it worse.’

I felt his body lean into mine, ever so slightly, and I leaned into his. He gently cupped my face in his hand. ‘This is not weakness,’ he whispered, ‘You do not need to hide it from me. I will love you, always, and I will be by your side. I consider it my greatest privilege.’

I bit my lower lip in an effort to contain the tears, but they came nonetheless. They ran down my cheeks and dropped onto his shirt, and suddenly I was sobbing, and I had not cried like this since I was a boy. His arms were around me, a fortress, a haven. He kissed my forehead again and again, his fingers drawing invisible circles over my arms, as if he would absorb my pain, as if he wished it would hurt him instead. And perhaps it did.

I cried in his arms, drawing wobbly streaks of tears down the front of his shirt. He held me, his lips comforting my skin, his entire body cradling mine. Like rain, I cried and cried, and he stood in the downpour, saying ‘nothing can hurt you now’, ‘I am here’, ‘you will never be alone’.

At last I stopped crying. I noticed then that I was shivering. Jeeves gently pulled back, his eyes locked on mine, and said, ‘I will light the fire.’

I watched him as he did, grateful for his presence, for the way he turned to look at me every few seconds. Once the fire crackled reassuring in the fireplace, Jeeves covered me with a blanket and took me in his arms again. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

‘You will never be alone,’ he said softly. His fingers were in my hair, as gentle as a summer breeze, and his scent was in my clothes, my skin – sandalwood and warmth and home. My eyelids fluttered over my tired eyes.

‘Say my name, Jeeves, please.’

He would object, usually. But I only felt him tense for a second, then, ‘Bertie…’

I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and his hand stroked my cheek.

‘You are loved,’ he hummed soothingly; ‘I love you, Bertie.’

‘I love you too, Reggie,’ I closed my eyes.

I was relaxed, comfortable, safe in Jeeves’ embrace. A moment before falling asleep, I felt a great peace, and a certainty: that nothing could harm me, that no troubles were insurmountable, no problems unsolvable. I was safe, I was loved, I would never be alone.

And, dear reader, you are safe. You are loved. And you will never be alone.