‘Cato Hamilton, meet my mother, Annabel.’ There’s no getting round the ‘my mother’ bit. ‘Cato deals in antiques.’

‘How do you do?’ Cato says, wiping his feet on the doormat and summing up my mother in a glance as a person who wouldn’t appreciate a ‘Yo!’ as a salutation.

‘Come in,’ my mother says to him, and for the first time she notices the bin bag over his shoulder and turns her warmth down a notch, glancing at me quizzically.

I block his way. ‘Cato – I meant to call you. I’m giving up the shop because—’

‘She needs a regular income,’ my mother finishes for me over my shoulder.

‘I see. So you don’t need any more stock,’ he says to me.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘No problem. Goodbye, Mrs Banks.’

I’m gutted as he turns away and I have serious second thoughts about my willpower. ‘Hang on, Cato. Anything interesting? What’s the provenance?’

‘They belong to a hypnotherapist, Alexandra Booth. She was given a Marie Kondo book for her birthday and she’s had a clear-out. Clothes, silver, paintings. I’ve got a van full of her stuff. These are great times, Fern,’ he says cheerfully. ‘This is going to be known as the Year of the Great Uncluttering. And when everyone decides that it’s just not a home without knick-knacks, the next big thing will be people flocking in their droves to buy everything back.’

He does make me laugh.

‘I wouldn’t mind having a quick look,’ I tell him, desperately feeding my addiction.

Throughout this conversation, my mother has been standing behind me, close enough for me to step on her foot if I wanted to. Predictably, she wants to argue against having any more second-hand clothes in her flat, but Cato Hamilton hasn’t felt the full power of her charm yet, so she’s torn. Not for long, though, because a few seconds later he dumps the clothes on the sofa.

There are a couple of short, animal-print dresses with flounces around the hem, a sleeveless pink-and-brown pleated dress, a formal, backless, full-length column dress and a jacket of a glorious, glossy, milk chocolate brown with shoulder pads and a narrow belt that would be just perfect for my interviews to come. I try it on and look at myself in my mother’s new mirror.

It’s a perfect fit. If I saw anyone wearing this jacket, I’d hire them on the spot.

When I turn back, my mother’s holding up the pleated dress against herself.

‘Very becoming,’ Cato says to her.

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, absolutely.’

I’m beginning to realise what my father feels like and why he wants her to find an interest of her own. She seems so aimless, somehow, as if she hasn’t so much got interests as distractions.

‘Fern?’ she asks.

‘Fantastic. Try it on.’