Bristol is one of my favourite cities. I visit here a few times a year, and the second part of my novel, Songs for Beginners, is set here. I love the cultural diversity. I love the artistic and musical heritage. I love the mixed and massive architecture. I love the second-hand bookshops and record shops; that’s where you’ll find me most days when I’m here.

My first encounter with Bristol was a literary one. The city features in Fire & Hemlock, a fantasy love story for teenagers by Diana Wynne Jones. (Teenagers were not called Young Adults in 1985, and there was no such thing as romantasy.) It was the first of her novels I read, but I soon devoured the rest of her back-catalogue and would eagerly anticipate every novel to come after. But although I enjoyed all her other stories, it was Fire & Hemlock I returned to time and again. It is easily the most reread book of my lifetime. It’s no exaggerated estimate that I’ve read it about thirty times, most recently a few months ago.

The Bristol of Fire & Hemlock is a scary place, not in any fantastical sense, but in the very real horror of Polly being rejected by her absentee father who has moved to Bristol with his new partner. It’s the nightmare of becoming lost in unfamiliar streets of a strange city with no money, no food and no way of getting home that hits the reader hard. As much as I love Bristol, as I walk its streets, I can feel the edge that Polly found herself upon.

I knew Diana Wynne Jones had lived in Bristol until she died in 2011, but I didn’t know exactly where until now. I pictured her in a big house in Clifton – my favourite area of the city. I imagine Clifton to be full of writers, artists and musicians; it has that vibe.

Many times, I have passed the green plaque identifying Angela Carter’s residence on Royal York Crescent, and I wondered that there shouldn’t be a plaque for Diana Wynne Jones. There wasn’t until last year.

So, this week I went in search of her address in nearby Hotwells, a short stroll from the place we stay in Clifton. The Polygon is an idyllic terrace tucked away off a steep lane, free from passersby. The door of her house stood open, and across the path opposite, a man was tending to flowering plants. I asked permission to take a picture of the plaque, and he closed the door to give the full effect of the beautiful house (or to hide the indoors perhaps). He was a quiet man, and conscious of disturbing his peace, I didn’t chatter as excitedly as I might have done when I realised he was Diana Wynne Jones’ son.

‘Her writing has had a massive influence on me,’ I told him.

He asked, ‘Which is your favourite?’ and there was no hesitation in my reply.

‘Ah, Fire & Hemlock,’ he said. ‘A lot of people didn’t understand that book.’

‘I discover something new every time I read it,’ I said.

I did not say that I’m a writer.

I did not tell him that the ballads of Tam Lin and Thomas the Rhymer, which feature in the novel, have been part of my musical repertoire for more than thirty years.

I did not say that because of Fire & Hemlock I had been drawn into age gap romances with musicians and eventually married one. I suspect this is an unintended consequence of the novel, but I’m sure I can’t be the only girl affected.

There was so much I could have said to Diana Wynne Jones’ youngest son, but I respect his privacy and am grateful for the privilege of seeing the place where his mother lived and wrote.

The encounter as it happened, was as it was meant to be. Perfect.