Sarah came round for tea and, within the hour, had reorganised my spice rack. I want you to understand what that means. That spice rack had a system. It was my system. Nobody had touched it in years, and nobody was going to, and then Sarah did, and it was better.
We have been fine ever since. More than fine, actually.
I've had twenty-odd years to work James out and I'm still not sure I have. He was sent home from school at seven for correcting his teacher about dinosaurs. He was right, by the way. That was the first time I understood he'd rather be right and in trouble than quiet and wrong, and it hasn't really changed since.
He saved up for a telescope for a year. A whole year, at seven or eight years old, which is a very long time when you're that age. Do you know what he did with it? Gave it to his cousin. Just handed it over. I don't think he ever said why, and I never asked, because you don't, with James. He just does the thing and moves on, and you're left standing there thinking, right, so that's who he is, then.
He irons his socks, which I want on record did not come from me. I iron nothing that doesn't need it and some things that do need it get left in a basket for a fortnight. Where he got that particular habit from, I genuinely couldn't tell you. Maybe it's just him being thorough. Maybe it's a cry for help. Either way, it's very James.
When his father was ill, James drove to Cardiff every weekend. Every single one. He never once made a thing of it, never once said it was hard, never asked for anything back for it. He'd just go, and come back, and get on with it. I knew what it cost him, even if he never said so. That's the version of him I think about most, if I'm honest. The quiet one. The one who does the driving and doesn't tell you.
So when I say Sarah reorganised my spice rack and we've been fine ever since, that's not really a small thing. James doesn't let people rearrange him easily. He's particular. He's stubborn, in the nicest possible way, about being right, about doing things properly, about turning up when it matters and not making a fuss about it. And Sarah walked in and just got on with it, the way he does. I think that's why it works. I think you've found somebody who does things the way you do, James, quietly, and properly, and without needing anyone to notice.
I'm not going to stand here and tell you I always knew. I didn't. I knew the spice rack was better organised. Everything else I've worked out watching the two of you since.
So would everyone please raise a glass. To James, who irons his socks and once gave away a telescope he waited a year for. And to Sarah, who took one look at my kitchen and knew exactly what to do with it, and has clearly been doing the same for James ever since.
To James and Sarah.