Before her thoughts could take her any further down that route, Aaron was back at the door, and the two of them set off down the road towards the tube.

‘Thanks again for this,’ he said.

‘That’s okay.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of stalker. It’s just …’

‘Aaron, it’s okay. Honestly. If you’re keen on learning about photography, I’m more than happy to have you tag along. You can take a turn with Camilla yourself later if you’d like.’

‘Camilla?’

Prue laughed. ‘Sorry. My camera. I’ve always named them. They spend so much time out and about with me, I’ve always thought they deserved names of their own. My first was an old Box Brownie that used to belong to my grandad. I was about six and I called it Brownie, of course. No real imagination in those days. But Camilla’s my biggest and my best. Where I go, she goes. So, where will that be today? You’re the local interest expert. Take us somewhere I might not have found for myself. By the river, but off the obvious tourist route. But pretty, just the same.’

‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ he joked. ‘But for you, and Camilla here, I’ll put my thinking cap on.’

They ended up at Strand-on-the-Green, tucked away under Kew Bridge, strolling along the footpath beside the Thames, the sun shining on the water. Every few paces Aaron had to stop and shorten his stride so she could keep up.

‘Wow. Beautiful houses.’ Prue gazed up in awe. ‘I wonder what these cost?’

‘If you need to ask you probably can’t afford them.’

‘And look at that little island over there!’

‘Something to do with Cromwell, I think, hiding out there in the Civil War. My dad told me about that. He used to bring me here, on our Sundays. You know, the classic divorced parents thing. A burger, a film, feed the ducks or visit a park somewhere before being deposited back at Mum’s like a parcel. This was one of my favourites. There’s something calming about the river, isn’t there? And sort of constant, when everything else around you is changing.’

‘You’re quite a thinker, aren’t you?’

‘Not really. Thick as shit actually, which is why I work nights stacking shelves.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. The thick bit, I mean. You shouldn’t put yourself down, you know, or you’ll find other people will too. You just need a bit of confidence in yourself.’ That was a joke, coming from her. Miss Underconfident herself! If only she knew how to take her own advice.

They stopped for a while, Prue pointing her camera at a lone bird floating by, adjusting the lens to bring it into focus. ‘You didn’t want to go to uni?’

‘Never an option. Mum needs me working, to help out with the bills, and the thought of running up all that student debt worried the hell out of her. And me. I wasn’t good enough at anything anyway. Bit of this, bit of that. I liked history, wasn’t bad at art, could manage basic maths and a few words of French, but I didn’t shine at any one thing, and average grades don’t count for much.’