‘But how many people is he following? Probably two hundred and ninety-nine thousand. You can’t trust the follower count. It’s all about the ratio.’

‘Well, no look, see, he’s only following two thousand and thirty-eight.’

‘Ah, then he’s probably one of those awful types who follows and unfollows. He’ll follow tons of people and then sneakily unfollow them once they’ve started following him back.’

‘I need a manual for this.’

‘How much are you communicating with him? Direct messages, is that it?’

‘We message each other daily and we’ve shared a few pictures.’

I look at Kelly. ‘Oh my god. Pictures of what?’

‘Relax. I am a pretty good judge of character, remember. I have inside info.’

I look at Dan Mosel’s picture. He has sparkly eyes and is grinning with all his teeth. He is also possibly wearing eyeliner.

‘He looks like a naughty king from the Bible.’

‘I like naughty kings.’

‘Ugh.’ Does my mother fancy him? If she has a ‘type’, does he – could he – look anything like my … you know?

‘I can’t see myself getting back into dating any time soon,’ says Kelly. ‘I don’t see the point, really.’

Because you’ve done the procreation thing? I think, helplessly. This brain!

‘Do you think you’ll have any more?’ asks my mother.

I laugh in shock. ‘Mum, you can’t ask that question. It’s off-limits. You can never ask a woman about her plans to have or not have children, or more children. You just don’t know where she might be at with it all.’

‘I’d like another,’ Kelly says.

‘What?’ I sit down. ‘I can’t cope with today.’

‘Well, you’ve got to have two, haven’t you?’ Kelly continues. ‘In case one dies.’

My mother cackles.

‘This is news,’ I say. ‘How would you do it?’

‘Artificial insemination. I’ve got the names sorted and everything. Helvetica for a girl and Kale for a boy.’

‘Gorgeous,’ I say. ‘And so modern.’

‘I don’t know whether you’re being serious or not now,’ says my mother.

‘I am about the baby part,’ says Kelly. ‘But I’d have a C-section and I’d want savings in place for more childcare.’

‘I just wouldn’t do it at all,’ my mother says. ‘I wouldn’t have gone through with it, if I’d known how hard it would be. It’s nothing personal, darling.’

‘No,’ says Kelly, ‘you can’t say that in front of Jenny. You have to wait until she’s in the garden. That’s the rule.’

‘I’m really going!’ I walk towards the French windows, out to the garden. ‘There, now you can let loose.’

As I walk outside, I hear Kelly get her guitar and strike up the first few bars of ‘Love Is Like a Butterfly’. My mother will do the harmonies, no doubt.

I want to see Sonny anyway.

THE HEART CROSSES IT