‘No. We like each other better at a distance, that’s all.’

Same goes, I want to say.

‘What are you doing on that phone?’ she asks sharply.

‘Looking for somewhere else to live.’

It’s the right answer. I can see her relax. Good. I want her to look at me in a new light.

‘You’ll need to have a regular income,’ she says, straightening a mirror that she’s put up in the lounge. ‘The sooner you leave that market the better, because the truth is, Fern, you never did have a head for business and you should have understood that by now. You’re useless without me. I’m going for a shower.’

While she’s in the bathroom I go into the wardrobe in my bedroom and take out my black leather biker jacket and Dr. Martens, black T-shirt, black skinny jeans. Her contempt corrodes like acid. I grab my largest sunglasses from my bedside drawer. Times like this, I need all the protection I can get.

Walking along the canal with the water winking in the sunlight, I keep thinking over all the things that have happened in the last few days, like taking the fakes to Tallulah Young’s, and wondering about all the chances I’ve squandered without achieving anything in life.

I’m anticipating with dread some kind of hideous scene with David, where he demands an explanation and tells me he was worried sick the previous night. I’m prepared to apologise in all sorts of different ways with increasing servility; I can do it until I feel as if I’m dragging myself along the ground, the lowest of the low.

So when I get to the market it’s a bit of a surprise to find him sitting in his chair in his usual place, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, reading his astronomy book. I take my sweaty hands out of my leather jacket to face him. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ he says, perfectly normally, using his finger as a bookmark. ‘Any news about Moss?’

‘No. You?’ What a stupid thing to say. Of course he hasn’t had any news, or he wouldn’t have asked me if I’d had any.

He doesn’t point this out. He says, ‘No.’ And then, after a moment, ‘Who are you today? Britney Spears?’

This is quite funny. I feel the dread lifting and I take off my sunglasses.

Across the way, the antiques dealer is opening up, and he turns and gives us a wave. I love it here, I think with a pang. I don’t want to leave.

I unfold my chair and put my sunglasses back on, propping my legs in front of me, and I stare at the shine on my boots. ‘David?’

‘Yes?’

‘My parents are worried that I’ll never amount to anything because I’m wasting my life.’