Dear Nicola, Jamie, Kate and Toby
 
I can’t remember exactly when I met Steve. Was it in a pub in Liverpool, relieved to meet someone who also couldn’t “hold his beer”. Or was it just before he started at Herbert Smith describing to me the conflict, which many of us at the time shared, between on the one hand “selling out” and, on the other, being excited about working in a shiny building and earning a desperately needed few quid. Either way it’s a long time, but not long enough. After we left Herbert Smith, I did not see him that often, maybe 3 times a year. Invariably, we met with Richie and Stevie Bidds, so it was an evening of banter (and mocking Richard of course!). So we didn’t often have much chatting alone; and when we did we would pile into politics and the stuff that made us cross or interested us. Our Brexit and Jordan Peterson conversations are fresh in my mind. In that sense we did not know so much about our lives and our pasts as many good friends do. And yet I always saw Steve as one of my very small group of really good friends. And that was, I think, because he was just such a lovely person. I know that’s easy to say, but in Steve’s case it was unequivocally true. There are some words that attach naturally to people; “lovely” is one of those with Steve, but there are many others which I associate with him more that most people I know. He was truly fair and decent, honest and kind, and was always attentive to the people he was with. If you had a heated debate, he would worry later whether he offended you and email you the next day; if someone was out of order he would worry that he may not have been as considerate of and attentive to them as he could have been, when really they were just out of order. He was such a good person. I often wondered how someone with these qualities could be so successful. Of course I knew he was really clever and hard working, and was fun to be around, but in my experience it’s rare for successful people to embody, to really embody, these qualities. At least, I have never seen it before. 
 
And for me, Steve was a role model as a dad. Steve and your mum started before any of us did with everything. First, to get married and what a day that was. A day of sun, laughter, love and happiness. What a truly fabulous day. And then first to have little ones. I remember visiting Steve when Jamie had just been born. Nic was out and it was just the three of us. I remember being in awe of his dad skills, which seemed so alien to me. But also being in awe of just how immensely happy he was. A man who could just not believe his own luck. And he was lucky; lucky to have a true love of his life; lucky to have three wonderful children and a wonderful family life. And Steve was a man who knew this. He beamed with pride every time you saw him, every time he talked about you all. There is then another word that so naturally attaches to my memory of him. He was very very proud. Of you all. 
 
I know today that luck is that last word that it seems appropriate to use. It’s such a terrible day and your loss is immense. I am so, so sorry. But hang on to that love he had for you all, it’s still there. How could it not be, there was so much of it. 
 
With love 
 
David (K)