I smiled. ‘You should.’ Somehow I couldn’t see him on the beaches of Goa. But that was why they worked well together, my solemn, slightly pained father and the gregarious Jenny. When he’d introduced me to her a few months ago – ‘their eyes had met across the crowded staffroom’ – I hadn’t taken much notice. Well, I hadn’t been taking notice of anything, to be honest, and anyway, my father’s relationships usually lasted less time than the seasons in his precious garden, as his heart never really engaged. But he and Jenny reflected something in one another, and she was still here. She’d seen him through the recent dark days, and she made him smile. That was the important thing.

‘I’ve made a curry in India’s honour. You’ll join us, won’t you?’

The carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. ‘I’m sure India will be very honoured, but I’m afraid I’m late already.’ Thank God. Jenny’s cooking was atrocious at the best of times.

‘I’ll save you some.’ She noticed the flowers. ‘New beau, darling? I do love lilies.’

‘Just what you need,’ my father mumbled. We both looked at him. ‘A new beau.’

I blushed. ‘I don’t know who they’re from, that’s the problem.’

‘Perhaps you’ve got a fan since your debut on TV.’ Despite my best efforts, I’d been rumbled when my dad’s head of maths, off sick, had caught the show. ‘How exciting.’ Jenny beamed. ‘You could have a fan club and everything.’

‘I’m going to chuck them out,’ I replied. ‘I don’t want them anyway.’

‘But they’re gorgeous,’ Jenny protested.

‘Take them home, then,’ I said. ‘Honestly. You have them.’

‘Of course!’ My father hit the paper triumphantly. ‘Elephant.’

I patted his head affectionately. ‘I’ll see you later.’

On the way out of the room I managed not to look at the lilies again, and I had such a nice time at Bel’s – making spaghetti bolognese with Hannah while Bel rang round making last-minute arrangements for Friday night, drinking red wine and listening to Johnno playing the guitar badly, serenading us with silly Rolf Harris songs in his broadest Australian accent – that I forgot all about the bloody flowers.

But on the way home to my father’s, the feeling of disquiet began to balloon again. It wasn’t just the fact that some freak had taken to sending me horrible bouquets; it was my sense of utter displacement – knowing it was time to leave my father’s house, time to leave Greenwich. He and Jenny were beginning to get close, and they deserved a proper chance after everything he’d been through. And I needed my own space again. I needed to finally extricate my life from Alex’s. We were going to have to sell the flat in Borough Market, and that would inevitably mean seeing him.