Then I remembered a flat in Herne Hill, for which I had paid the deposit. And the slightly ungracious invitation I’d had to stay there, if ever I was in London. I rang my daughter’s number.

I hadn’t been to the flat much since Jools moved in. A lot the first few weekends, helping her shift stuff around, even doing a bit of decorating. But since then, rarely. As I said, the demands of SpaceWoman, Chichester friends – and Fleur, of course – meant that I was rarely in London.

Also, to be honest, the place was too full of memories of Oliver for me to feel completely relaxed there. When we first got together, I moved into his houseboat on Regent’s Canal and we enjoyed London to the full. Pubs, restaurants, movies, theatre, the lot. As a cartoonist for daily newspapers, Oliver knew some wild friends from the world of journalism and we had a lot of fun, liberally marinated in alcohol. He was still at the stage where he thought alcohol helped allay the depression. Actually, coming to think of it, he never progressed from that stage.

The arrival of Juliet curtailed our – well, certainly my – social life a bit, and when she started toddling around, living on a canal boat became impractical and dangerous.

That was when, in the face of strong opposition and uncertainty from Oliver, we had moved down to the South Coast. First, we’d had a big house in Funtington, then the current one a few miles away in Chichester. The second move was, of course, without Oliver. I couldn’t face staying in the house in whose garage he had asphyxiated himself. When house-hunting in Chichester, I ruled out anywhere that had a garage.

So, for me, London was a bit like the Funtington house, a place of happy memories, shadowed and soured by subsequent events.

I was quite surprised when Jools said she wanted to buy a flat. Not surprised that she wanted to, but surprised that she reckoned she could afford to pay a mortgage. And, indeed, that in her early twenties she wanted to tie herself down with one.

But I shouldn’t have worried. Shouldn’t have been surprised either, come to that. Juliet had always had a good financial brain. Even when she was tiny, she saved her pocket money for things she wanted and only bought them when she’d accumulated the full sum. Never turned to Oliver or me to help her out.

Because of that history, she was embarrassed about asking me to help with the flat deposit. It was just a private arrangement, but she had worked out a repayment schedule and, so far, she’s paid what she owes each month. She knows I wouldn’t make a fuss if she didn’t, but my Jools takes financial matters seriously.

Which is why I’m constantly amazed that she works in the fashion industry. Not the high-end, designer-label part of the business, but down the cheap end. The clothes she writes about, the ones she goes to product launches for, the ones she would like to promote as an influencer, are all cheapo garments, designed to be worn once or twice and then chucked away.