When I reached Kelly with two-year-old Sonny in my arms, he scrambled to get to her and I got that shameful feeling I always got – immaturely, stupidly – when babies and children preferred other people, even their mothers, to me. Kelly hugged him hard. Her chin wobbled.

‘I just nipped to the loo,’ she said. Her Northern accent hit me like a warm breeze. I wanted to say: Do they understand you when you ask for nuts in a pub? Because they don’t understand me. ‘I was away for thirty seconds. I normally take him with me, but he was watching telly and – I had no idea he could do handles.’

‘It happens,’ I said, as though I knew what I was talking about.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Do you want to come in for a drink?’

On the way to the house, she showed me the back gate. ‘I don’t know who left that open. Fucking numbskulls round here. Where are you from?’

‘Manchester. Originally. Near there, anyway. How about you?’

‘Huddersfield.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘I miss my mum.’

‘Were you never tempted to move back?’

‘Nah. I don’t miss her that much. I see her often enough. And Sonny’s dad’s up there and he’s pulled a few stunts. And I like my job. I’m just a receptionist but it’s easy and they’re really flexible.’

We drank wine in her living room. There were posters from festivals up – Green Man, End of the Road – alongside shamanic art. My wine glass was chunky and dark green. Kelly’s was different. Pink, maybe. Sonny banged his toys together on the rug. After an hour or so, she put Sonny to bed. I heard the sound of a lullaby tinkling from his bedroom as she shushed him.

When Kelly came back in, it was with another bottle of wine.

Out of nowhere I said: ‘My mum was a single mum.’

What was I aiming for? Bonding? Some intimation that I understood her life? I get an anxiety shard when I think of myself saying that, now. The LOVE ME LOVE ME factory setting of my lost little heart.

Kelly didn’t prolong the moment for me. ‘Where does she live?’ she said.

‘Still up near Manchester.’

‘Where’s your dad?’

‘I never knew him. My mother barely did, by all accounts.’

Kelly smiled. ‘What’s your mum like? I bet she’s a glamour puss.’

‘She’s like a baby bird,’ I said. ‘All mouth.’ Kelly laughed. I went on. ‘She puts the “other” in “mother”.’

Kelly laughed again. ‘Don’t we all.’

It was too soon to offend her. I backtracked. ‘I guess we all get Stockholm syndrome where our mothers are concerned.’

‘Right. No wonder he broke for the border.’

‘No, I didn’t mean—’

‘Shut up.’ She poured more wine.