This book was supposed to end with ‘Grimes on the Beach’.

In August of 2020 Steuart read the second draft and prodded triumphantly at the typos he had found, but in the months that followed, his health deteriorated so much that he was barely able to contribute. I continued to work on the book, and on 12 February 2021, I sent in my final notes from the publisher's proof, hoping desperately that the book would be printed in time for Steuart to hold a copy.

Three days later, Charmian Bedford rang to tell me her dad had died, peacefully, that morning.

It's a curious task, to co-author a memoir. There have been times when I’ve envied biographers who have the luxury of a deceased subject, for they can speculate freely on their subject's journey – what caused this, what motivated them to do that.

With Steuart this was out of the question. If ever I tried, he rewarded me with an ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Latterly, when he struggled to find words, this became a sort of pop-popping sound he made with his lips, his brow furiously furrowed, but I knew what it meant.

There are only a couple of places in the book that I have put words into Steuart's mouth, crafted from the many discussions we had. He queried me on one in particular.

‘Did I say that?’

‘Well, not exactly, but I asked you about it and this paraphrases what we discussed. Do you want me to take it out?’

‘No, actually I rather like it.’

I’m going to miss Steuart so much – his bony hug, his beloved insults. During one of my visits I was searching for the right bin in the kitchen to recycle a cardboard box.

‘Steuart, where can I stick this?’ ‘Up your arse.’

Charming.

I’m going to miss his curmudgeonly geniality, his absolute kindness, that he trusted me to do this, that he blessed me with this curious task. And of course I’m going to miss Steuart the musician, one of our very last direct connections with Britten, and a conductor cut from a cloth they really don't make any more.

Although he hasn't been physically able to collaborate in the last few months, in my head I’ve still needed Steuart's permission for every decision I’ve made.